LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 


Tom  Ham 


"KIDDIES  SIX" 

A  MODEST  LITTLE  VOLUME  OF  VERSE 


FROM  THE  PEN  OF 


WILL  M.  MAUPIN 


WITH  A  FOREWORD  FROM 

RICHARD  L.  METCALFE 


DONE  INTO  PRINT   BY    UNION    WORKMEN 

IN  THE    EMPLOY  OF    THE    CLAFLIN 

PRINTF.RY,  UNIVERSITY  PLACE 


LINCOLN,  NEBR.,  OCTOBER  I,  1911 

FIRST   EDITION,  TWO   THOUSAND 


KIDDIES     SIX 


DEDICATION 

My  Own   Children,    and  to   the   Children   of  Jill 
Men    ^very  where:  - 

From  the  pink-faced  Newest  jtfrrival  to  the  Biggest  Boy 
who  has  flown  the  nest—the  children  whose  love  and  laughter  make 
the  world  worth  while;  the  unfolding  of  whose  precious  lives  is  a 
constant  miracle,  mystery  and  entertainment;  the  responsibility  for 
whom  acts  as  a  balance  wheel  to  keep  us  from  running  wild;  whose 
caresses  are  balm  for  every  wound  received  on  life's  battlefield; 
whose  happiness  is  ample  reward  for  every  sacrifice;  whose  sorrows 
and  troubles  make  us  forget  our  own — to  them,  in  the  hope  that 
something  herein  may  add  a  bit  of  joy  to  their  lives  and  give  evi- 
dence of  the  love  I  bear  them,  this  little  volume  is  lovingly  dedicated. 

WILL  M.  MAUPIN. 
Lincoln,  Nebraska,  August,  191 1. 


KIDDIES     SIX 


A      FOREWORD 

Some  one  has  said  that  "Poets  are  all  who  love — 
who  feel  great  truths  and  tell  them."  That  being  true, 
Will  M.  Maupin  is  entitled  to  rank  among  the  real  poets. 

Some  of  the  sweetest  things  I  have  ever  read  came 
from  the  pen  of  this  talented  man;  and  over  and  over 
again  during  a  quarter  of  a  century  he  has  made  my 
own  heart  go  pit-a-pat  with  the  music  of  his  words. 

"  'Give  me  a  theme!'  the  little  poet  cried, 

'And  I  will  do  my  part,' 
"'Tis  not  a  theme  you  need,'  the  world  replied; 

'You  need  a  heart.'  " 

Mr.  Maupin  has  "the  heart,"  and  he  could  not,  if 
he  would,  conceal  it  in  his  song. 

If  poetry  is  something  to  make  us  wiser  and  better 
by  continually  revealing  those  types  of  beauty  and  truth 
which  God  has  set  in  all  men's  souls,  then  Will  M. 
Maupin  has  rendered  a  service  to  mankind. 

I  am  sure  that  everyone  who  reads  "Kiddies  Six" 
will  feel  that  he  has  advanced  many  miles  along  the 
road  to  Loveville.  The  gates  of  that  beautiful  city 
open  wide  to  the  music  of  a  pen  that  would  have  made 
Mr.  Maupin  the  master  of  millions  of  money  of  the  realm 
if  half  the  loving  heartbeats  it  has  brought  to  life  could 
be  coined  into  gold. 

KICHARD  L.  METCALFE. 


KIDDIES     SIX 


MY  PRAYER 

God,  for  the  gladness  of  this  day, 

Grateful,  I  come  tonight. 
Through  all  the  days  to  come,  dear  Lord, 

Guide   Thou  my  steps   aright. 

I  thank  Thee,  God,  for  health  and  friends, 
And  strength  to  work  with  cheer; 

Grant  me  refreshing  sleep  this  night, 
Free  from  all  care  and  fear. 

And  may  I  waken  calmed,  renewed, 

And  ready  for  the  day; 
Whether  of  sorrow  or  of  joy, 

Help  me  to  keep  Thy  way. 

Grant,  Father,  purity  of  heart, 

And  courage  for  the  right; 
Grant  me  the  gift  of  cheer  alway, 

And  favor  in  Thy  sight. 

Amen. 


KIDDIES     SIX 


VAIN    SURMISING 

Mamma's  knitting  little  stockin's  just  as  cute  as  they 

can  be, 
An'  I  wonder  who  will  get  them,   'cause  they're  much 

too  small  for  me. 
Just    th'    littlest,    tweeniest    stockin's,    almost    like    my 

dollies  wear, 
But  they  ain't  made  for  my  dollies,  'cause  they  both  have 

got  a  pair. 
An'   some    dresses — long   an'   ruffled,    an'    th'    sweetest, 

softest  lace — 

An'  a  lot  of  other  fixin's  mamma  sews  with  smilin'  face. 
My,  I  just  can't  help  but  wonder  when  such  pretty  things 

I  see 
Who  will  get  them  when  they're  finished,  'cause  they're 

all  too  small  for  me. 


Yesterday,  when  I  was  playin'  with  my  dollies  on  th' 

floor 
Mamma  stood  an'  watched  a  minute  as  she  leaned  against 

the  door; 
Then   she   smiled   at   me   and   asked   me   if   I   wouldn't 

rather  dress 

A  cute  little  baby  brother,  an'  of  course  I  answered,  yes. 
"Will  you  get  me  one?"  I  asked  her;  but  she  smiled  and 

walked  away 
To  sew  more  on  little  dresses  purt'  nigh  all  the  livelong 

day. 
An'  I  couldn't  help  but  wonder  for  whose  child  they  all 

could  be, 
For  I  know  I  couldn't  wear  'em   'cause  they're  all  too 

small  for  me. 


KIDDIES     SIX  7 

Just  last  night  I  asked  my  papa  if  a  brother  cost  too 

much, 
An'  he  laughed  an'  said  to  mamma,  "Don't  her  questions 

beat  the  Dutch?" 
Then  my  mamma  smiled  and  kissed  me  an'  said,  "Well, 

perhaps  some  day 
We  will  get  one  from  the  doctor  as  he  drives  along  this 

way." 
So  all  day  here  by  the  window  I  have  watched  for  Doctor 

Strong, 
An'  I  wish  that  he  would  hurry,   'cause  I  hate  to  wait 

so  long. 

If  he  hasn't  got  a  baby  he  must  get  one,  for,  you  see, 
All  the   dresses  mamma's  making  are   a  lot   too   small 

for  me. 


PROM   THE    VALLEY 

No,  I  ain't  a  carin',  doctor,  whether  it  be  girl  or  boy, 
Though  f'r  weeks  I've  calculated  that  I'd  like  t'  have 

th'  joy 
Of  a  man  child  t'  come  after  an'  t'  bear  his  father's 

name; 
But  a  girl  or  a  boy  child,  doctor,  I  confess  it's  jus'  th' 

same 
Till  I  know  that  she  who  brung  it  from  th'  shadow  o' 

th'  vale 
With  th'  col'  damp  on  her  forehead  an'  her  cheeks  so 

thin  an'  pale, 

Is  a  goin'  t'  stay  with  me — that  is  what  I  want  t'  know, 
'Cause  if  she  can't  journey  with  me,  then  I  jus'  don't 

want  t'  go. 


8  KIDDIES     SIX 

Boy  or  girl — I  ain't  a  carin'  till  she  who's  a  layin'  there 
With  th'  sunshine  of  th'  old  days  still  a  gleamin'  in  her 

hair, 
Puts  her  hand  in  mine  an'  whispers,  as  she  did  in  days 

of  old, 
"I'll  go  with  you  on  life's  journey,"  an'  th'  skies  were 

bright  as  gold — 
Till  she  smiles  again  an'  presses  her  wan,  fevered  hand 

in  mine 
An'  clings  to  it  like  th'  tendrils  of  th'  mornin'   glory 

vine, 

I'm  not  earin'  if  th'  baby  is  a  daughter  or  a  son, 
F'r  I'm  thinkin'  of  another,  an'  yon  suff'rer  is  th'  one. 

Feelin'  all  right,  is  she,  doctor?  See,  she's  smilin'  up  at 
me 

An'  the  old  love-light  is  shinin'  brighter 'n  than  it  uster 
be. 

An'  a  little  bit  o'  color  in  her  cheeks  begins  t'  shine 

Like  it  did  away  back  yonder  when  she  laid  her  hand 
in  mine. 

Now  we'll  jus'  inquire  out  yonder  where  we  hear  that 
little  cry 

If  th'  stork  has  brung  a  daughter  or  a  son — say,  doc- 
tor, I 

Wisht  you'd  just  inquire  an'  tell  me — I'm  a  brimmin' 
o'er  with  joy. 

Glory,  halleluja,  doctor!   F'r  th'  stork  has  brung  a  boy! 


KIDDIES     SIX 


WHERE  PLEASURE  IS 

You  may  think  you  are  enjoying  all  the  good  there  is  in 

life 
When  you  bend  your  mind  to  winning  big  rewards  in 

business  strife. 
You  may  think  you're  having  pleasure  when  you  play 

the  social  game, 

Or  imagine  you  are  happy  as  you  reap  rewards  of  fame. 
You  may  watch  the  gold  and  glitter  of  the  ever  passing 

throng, 

And  imagine  life  is  pleasant  as  a  summer  evening's  song. 
But  in  this  life's  greatest  pleasure  you  will  never  have 

a  part 
Till  a  baby's  tiny  fingers  reach  and  twine  about  your 

heart. 

You  may  think  that  gold  will  purchase  all  the  good  life 

has  in  store ; 
You  may  think  life   is  worth  living  but  to  reach  and 

grasp  for  more. 
You   may   travel   foreign    countries,    you    may    sail    the 

ocean's  foam, 
And  imagine  greatest  pleasure  may  be  found  away  from 

home. 
You  may  lead  in  the  procession  marching  on  to  great 

success, 
Or  imagine   you  are   happy  in  the   battle's   storm   and 

stress ; 
But  towards  the  goal  of  pleasure  you've  not  even  made 

a  start 
Till  a  baby's  tiny  fingers  reach  and  twine  about  your 

heart. 


10  KIDDIES     SIX 

0,  the  lights  of  home!      How  pleasant  when  the  tired 

worker  sees 
Beams  that  flash  to  him  a  welcome  through  the  nodding, 

bending  trees! 
O,  the  home  sounds!    How  the  music  rings  and  swells 

upon  the  air 
When  the  little  home's  door  closes,  shutting  out  the  toil 

and  care ! 
0,  the  laughter  of  the  children!    How  it  lifts  tho  weary 

load 
From  the  worker's  tired  shoulders  as  he  rests  beside  the 

road! 

"What  a  wealth  of  love  and  pleasure  from  the  very  mo- 
ment start 
"When  a  baby's  tiny  fingers  reach  and  twine  about  your 

heart! 


FOR   ME 

I  ask  not  wealth  or  golden  store, 

Nor  right  to  rule  my  fellow  man. 
Just  this  I  ask,  and  nothing  more, 

To  live  my  life  as  best  I  can. 
I  ask  not  fame,  nor  high  estate, 

Nor  argosies  upon  the  sea. 
I  only  ask  that  loved  ones  wait 

To  give  sweet  welcome  unto  me. 

I  ask  no  crown  of  high  finance, 

Nor  plaudits  from  the  crowding  throng. 
I  only  ask  a  man's  fair  chance 

To  save  my  loved  ones  from  all  wrong. 
I  ask  not  for  the  pomp  and  power 

Of  those  who  rule  from  golden  throne. 
I  only  ask  that  every  hour 

I  can  provide  well  for  my  own. 


KIDDIES     SIX  11 

DICKEY  BOY 

"Now  tell  me  a  'story,"  says  wee  Dickey  Boy, 

When  night  pins  her  robe  with  a  star; 
When  hushed  is  the  strife  of  the  workaday  life 

And  troubled  tomorrow's  afar. 
"Now  tell  me  a  'tory,"  and  cuddling  close, 

His  little  head  pressed  o'er  my  heart, 
He  smiles  as  he  waits  for  the  tale  Dad  relates — 

"Let's  see;  now  how  does  it  start?" 

"It's   'bout  a  big,  black  bear,"  says  wee  Dickey  Boy, 

As  he  cuddles  up  closer  to  me. 
And  thus  well  begun  the  bear  story  is  spun 

To  wee  Dickey  Boy  on  my  knee. 
"P'ease  tell  it  aden,"  murmurs  wee  Dickey  Boy, 

But  e  're  the  old  tale  is  retold 
Wee  Dickey  Boy's  feet  are  soft  pressing  the  street 

That  is  paved  with  sweet  Slumberland's  gold. 

Sometimes  "Sing  a  song"  is  wee  Dickey  Boy's  plea, 

And  Dad's  up  against  it  for  fair; 
For  he  lacks  many  things  a  man  needs  when  he  sings, 

Including  the  tone  and  the  air. 
But  to  wee  Dickey  Boy  Dad's  a  singer  of  fame, 

So  Dad  warbles  of  "birds  in  the  pie"- 
"Dat's  dood;  sing  aden,"  says  Dickey  Boy  when 

He  tries  to  rub  sleep  from  his  eye. 

Then  of  the  old  soldier  with  one  wooden  leg, 

And  his  comrade,  the  sailor,  I  hum 
Till  his  soft,  happy  sighs  and  his  tired  closed  eyes 

Inform  me  the  sandman  has  come. 
Then  I  kiss  the  sweet  lips  of  my  wee  Dickey  Boy, 

And  down  in  my  heart — 'way  down  deep — 
I  know  fairies  and  gnomes  sing  to  him  as  he  roams 

Through  Slumbertown,  county  of  Sleep. 


12  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE    BABY 

He's  a  roly-poly,  cunning  little  mite, 
Such  a  smiling,  dancing,  cooing,  elfin  sprite, 
That  his  smile  makes  burdens  lighter, 
And  his  love  makes  dark  days  brighter, 
And  his  presence  gives  a  feeling  of  delight. 
Such  a  constant  source  of  happiness  and  joy 
Is  this  rosy-lipped  and  brown-eyed  little  boy. 

Such  a  funny  little  language  that  he  speaks — 
Little  gurgles,  little  cooings,  little  squeaks. 

But  each  little  intonation 

Bears  its  bit  of  information, 
And  the  cunning  little  dimples  in  his  cheeks, 
Coming,  going,  like  the  sunbeams  in  their  play, 
Lighten  up  my  little  cottage  ev'ry  day. 

When  I  feel  his  cunning  fingers  on  my  face, 
Feel  the  little  lines  of  love  his  fingers  trace, 

With  no  king,  though  high  his  station, 

Loyal,  strong  or  wide  his  nation, 
Would  I  trade  "for  keeps"  my  humble  lot  or  place. 
For  no  kingly  place  could  ever  give  the  joy 
That  I  feel  when  playing  with  the  baby  boy. 

When  the  angels  hover  o'er  him  as  he  sleeps, 
And  their  loving  care  a  constant  vigil  keeps, 

Who  can  tell  the  joy  I'm  feeling 

When  the  love  light  is  revealing 
Ev'ry  smile  that  o'er  his  rosy  visage  creeps? 
Such  a  joy  no  kingly  ransom  e'er  could  buy; 
And  we  have  it  daily,  darling,  you  and  I. 

God  watch  over  you,  my  baby,  every  day; 
Guard  thy  footsteps  as  you  journey  on  life's  way. 
Keep  your  feet  from  ever  straying, 


KIDDIES     SIX  13 

Every  wrongful  action  staying — 
Be  thy  life  a  life  of  service — this  I  pray. 
May  your  heart  be  ever  loyal,  brave  and  true — 
All  our  hopes,  dear  little  boy,  are  fixed  on  you. 


RICHARD    METCALFE    MAUPIN 

Funny  little  fellow,  with  a  fuzzy  little  head, 

With  a  face  so  small  and  red, 

Lying  on  your  dainty  bed — 
Precious  little  atom,  of  God's  glory  but  a  part, 

You  have  walked  into  my  heart, 

Nestled  there  right  from  the  start. 
And  the  touch  of  your  wee  fingers  gives  a  joy 
That  no  gold  could  ever  purchase,  little  boy. 

Cunning  little  fellow  with  your  wond'ring  eyes  of 
blue 

Looking  up  with  startled  view 

On  the  great  world  strange  and  new; 
Dainty  little  fellow,  such  a  tiny  little  mite 

Lying  on  your  pillow  white 

Blinking  at  the  softened  light; 
You're  a  messenger  from  heaven,  God's  envoy, 
With  a  wealth  of  love  and  laughter,  little  boy. 

Darling  little  fellow,  starting  out  on  life's  highway, 

On  your  little  head  I  pray 

Richest  blessings  day  by  day. 
Sturdy  little  fellow,  with  your  little  hand  in  mine, 

'Round  you  all  my  heartstrings  twine, 

'Round  you  shines  a  light  divine. 
May  your  life  be  one  of  service  and  of  joy  ; 
Life  that  is  well  worth  the  living,  little  boy. 


14  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  SECRET 

'Twas  th'  funniest  thing,  and  the  way  we  laughed 

As  we  sat  there  all  alone, 
Would  have  made  one  think  we  both  were  daft 

If  the  truth  were  not  made  known. 
But  the  baby  laughed  'cause  she  saw  it  first, 

And  she  shook  her  sides  with  glee ; 
And  then  the  fun  of  it  quickly  burst 

Upon  her  old  Dad — that's  me. 

The  way  it  happened  was  just  this  way : 

Baby  and  I  were  there, 
She  in  the  crib  on  the  pillows  lay, 

I  in  my  easy  chair. 
The  warm  sun  shone  in  the  cosy  room 

And  lighted  the  baby's  face 
Till  it  looked  as  pure  as  the  lily's  bloom, 

And  fair  as  the  lily's  grace. 

The  baby  looked  at  her  Dad  a  while, 

Her  blue  eyes  full  of  fun, 
And  over  her  face  a  little  smile 

Rippled  and  broke  and  run. 
Dad  smiled  right  back — she  smiled  some  more — 

Then  both  just  shook  with  glee ; 
And  mamma  peeped  in  at  the  open  door 

To  see  what  the  fun  might  be. 

But  the  baby  holds  the  secret  well — 

Never  a  word  says  she. 
The  joke  was  bully,  and  she  won't  tell; 

And  neither  will  Dad — that's  me. 
But,  0,  'twas  a  wonderful  joke  we  had, 

Just  shared  between  us  two, 
Baby  Blue  Eyes  and  her  Doting  Dad — 

And  don't  you  wish  you  knew? 


KIDDIES     SIX  15 

WONDERFUL 

Huh!    What  care  I  for  all  this  talk 

Of  war  with  brash  Japan? 
And  what  care  I  for  "yellow  peril," 

The  pigtailed  Chinaman? 
Let  warriors  clash  and  cannon  roar 

And  spread  war 's  reckless  ruth ; 
I've  got  no  time  to  notice  it — 

The  baby's  got  a  tooth. 

They  tell  me  Mr.  Harriman 

With   greedy,   lustful  grasp, 
Has  got  the  railroads  gathered  in 

His  sternly  squeezing  clasp. 
But  I'm  not  worried.    Greater  things 

Than  railroad  grabs,  forsooth, 
Demand  my  strict  attention  now — 

The  baby's  got  a  tooth. 

The  president  and  Foraker 

May  scrap  till  they  are  through; 
The  whole  canal  bunch  may  resign 

And  vanish  from  our  view 
Without  a  bit  of  interest 

To  me — to  tell  the  truth 
The  biggest  thing  in  sight  today 

Is  baby's  brand  new  tooth! 


BABY  BLUE  EYES 

Baby  Blue  Eyes,  Baby  Blue  Eyes! 

What  has  the  future  in  hiding? 
Is  it  the  joy  for  the  loving  and  wise  ? 


16  KIDDIES    SIX 

Never  a  cloud  there  to  dim  the  bright  skies? 
Sunshine  of  joytime  where  laughter  ne'er  dies? 
All  in  the  future  abiding? 

Baby  Bed  Lips,  Baby  Ked  Lips! 

What  is  in  store  for  the  morrow? 
Flowers  to  touch  with  your  soft  finger  tips  ? 
Pathways  of  roses  where  love  ever  trips  ? 
Nectar  of  gladness  the  hummingbird  sips? 

Never  a  care  nor  a  sorrow? 

Baby  Brown  Hair,  Baby  Brown  Hair! 

What  of  the  years  coming  after  ? 
Never  a  burden  of  want  nor  of  care  ? 
Never  a  sorrow  to  own  or  to  share? 
Nothing  but  happiness  spread  everywhere? 

Sunshine,  and  joy  time  and  laughter? 

Baby  Pink  Toes,  Baby  Pink  Toes ! 

If  for  thee  years  I  were  making, 
Nothing  you'd  know  of  the  weary  world's  woes; 
Never  you'd  walk  where  grim  poverty  grows; 
Life  would  be  sweet  and  as  bright  as  the  rose — 

Love  guard  thy  sleeping  and  waking! 


THE   YOUNGEST   BOY 

He's  dreaming  of  a  hobbyhorse 

And  lots  of  pretty  toys; 
He's  dreaming  of  tin  trumpets  and 

All  things  that  make  a  noise. 
He's  dreaming  of  a  soldier  cap, 

And  of  a  tenor  drum — 
And  smiling  while  he's  waiting  for 

Old  Santa  Glaus  to  come. 


KIDDIES     SIX 

He's  dreaming  of  the  reindeer 

That  haul  the  Christmas  sleigh; 
He's  dreaming  of  the  candles 

That  light  the  Christmas  way. 
He's  dreaming  of  the  sleighbells 

That  ring  adown  the  road, 
And  smiling  while  he's  dreaming 

Of  Santa  and  his  load. 

Dream  on,  0  little  brother; 

And  wake  on  Christmas  morn 
To  find  the  horse  and  helmet, 

The  toys  and  noisy  horn. 
Smile  on  amidst  your  dreaming, 

And  may  God  grant  to  you 
A  happy  Christmas  morning, 

With  all  your  dreams  come  true. 


GROWING   UP 

A  big  boy  now!    How  time  does  fly.     It  seems  but  yes- 
terday, 

As  clad  in  knickerbockers,  with  his  little  blocks  at  play, 
He  spent  the  daylight  hours — just  an  elfish  little  mite — 
And  when  the  chickens  went  to  roost  kissed  me  a  fond 

goodnight. 

It  seems  but  yesterday  he  climbed  with  joy  upon  my  knee 
To  beg  for  fairy  stories  that  would  fill  his  soul  with  glee ; 
But  yesterday  I  stroked  his  head  adorned  with  clinging 

curls — 
But  bless  me,  he's  a  big  boy  now  and  going  with  the  girls ! 

It  seems  'twas  but  a  month  ago,  or  but  a  year  at  best, 
He  had  to  seek  his  dear  mamma  to  be  slicked  up  and 
dressed. 


18  KIDDIES     SIX 

But  now  he  wears  my  choicest  ties  and — goodness  how  it 

hurts — 
He  casts  his  longing  eyes  upon  my  collars,   cuffs  and 

shirts. 
Not  long  ago  he  scorned  to  wash  his  hands  above  the 

wrists, 

But  now  on  having  scented  soap  and  like  things  he  insists. 
He 's  growing  up !  I  know  the  signs,  for  many  years  ago 
I  had  the  same  experience,  and  guess  I  ought  to  know. 

Not  long  ago  his  shoes  were  brown  and  skuffed  about 

the  toe, 
But  now   their  shine   is   something   great   and   ebon   in 

their  glow. 

Although  but  yesterday  a  patch  concerned  him  not  at  all, 
Today  'twould  give  his  heart  a  wrench  and  give  his  pride 

a  fall. 

And  not  so  very  long  ago  his  hair  ne'er  felt  the  brush, 
But  now  a  hair  left  out  of  place  would  make  the  youngster 

blush. 

Tis  wonderful  the  rapid  change  that  in  a  boy's  displayed 
When  he  has  got  his  eyes  upon  some  blue-eyed  little  maid. 

The  other  day  I  read  a  note — I  own  'twas  on  the  sly — 
He'd  written  to  a  little  maid,  and  with  a  laugh  then  I 
Began  to  joke  him  and  declare  that  he  was  smitten 

hard; 
But,  bless  you,  he  would  not  let  on  that  my   sarcasm 

jarred. 

Not  he!  He  turned  the  joke  on  me,  for  in  a  day  or  two 
Another  note — the  ''darling"  kind — came  underneath 

my  view. 
And  when  I  said  that  it  was  "soft"  the  "worst  I  ever 

saw, ' ' 
He  yelled  with  glee  and  showed   'twas  one  I'd  written 

to  his  ma. 


KIDDIES     SIX  19 

THE   BIGGEST   BOY 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  is  not  at  home — 

He  "flew  the  nest"  last  night. 
I  knew  the  day  was  bound  to  come, 

And  yet  tears  dim  my  sight. 
The  "Biggest  Boy"  has  said  goodbye, 

And  gone  to  play  his  part 
On  life's  grim  battlefield,  and  I 

Am  lone  and  sad  of  heart. 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  said,  "Goodbye,  Dad!" 

And  "Dad"  said,  "Goodbye,  son!" 
And  then  the  boy  with  head  erect, 

Went  forth — his  work  begun. 
And  over  in  the  corner  there 

"Dad's"  eyes  will  fall  upon 
The  "Biggest  Boy's"  now  vacant  chair, 

And  miss  the  boy  that's  gone. 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  gulped  back  a  sob 

When  on  his  lips  was  pressed 
The  little  mother's  goodbye  kiss, 

When  mother's  hands  caressed. 
And  then  he  smiled  and  went  his  way 

To  fight  and  win,  or  die ; 
While  "Dad"  and  mother  could  but  say, 

"God  bless  you,  son;  goodbye!" 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  is  in  the  ranks 

Of  that  great  fighting  band 
That  seeks  by  arts  of  toil  and  peace 

To  upbuild  this  fair  land. 
And  "Dad"  and  mother  fondly  hope 

As  only  parents  can, 
The  "Biggest  Boy"  will  do  his  part, 

And  do  it  like  a  man. 


20  KIDDIES     SIX 

LITTLE  MAN 

The  " Biggest  Boy"  has  gone  away, 

But  ''Little  Man"  is  here. 
I  miss  the  "Big  Boy's"  heavy  tread, 

But  rising  sweet  and  clear, 
I  hear  the   "Little  Man's"  request 

When  "Daddy's"  face  he  sees: 
"I'm  papa's  ownest  Little  Man — 

Give  me  a  penny  please!" 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  is  not  at  home, 

And  though  his  absence  hurts 
At  least  there's  comfort — I  can  find 

Clean  collars,  socks  and  shirts. 
And  when  I  look  about  and  see 

The  "Little  Man"  at  play, 
That  lonesome  feeling  in  my  heart 

Just  somehow  fades  away. 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  has  "hit  the  trail,' 

But  "Little  Man"  still  stands 
Beside  his  "Daddy's"  easy  chair 

And  stretches  out  his  hands; 
He  smiles  and  says  with  coaxing  voice 

While  climbing  on  my  knees: 
"I'm  papa's  little  man  today; 

Give  me  some  candy,  please!" 

One  boy  has  gone  to  fight  his  fight; 

One  boy  remains  with  me — 
The  "Biggest  Boy"  with  bearded  lip, 

The  "Little  Man"  aged  three. 
And  may  the  one  who's  far  away 

'Midst  life's  hard  toil  and  care 
Remain  as  fond  of  "Dad"  as  he 

Who  stands  beside  my  chair. 


KIDDIES     SIX  21 

TWO   0'   MINE 

Little  Miss  Margaret  Bumpety-bump, 

Whose  tears  are  soon  chased  by  her  laughter ; 
And  Young  Master  Dickeywick  Thumpety-thump, 

Who  always  comes  tumbling  down  after. 
Two  little  tykes  who  are  ever  at  play 

Till  the  clear  stars  begin  shining, 
Then,  snuggled  in  bed  at  the  close  of  the  day, 

Baby  arms  lovingly  twining. 

Hither  and  yon  through  the  day 's  speeding  hours, 

Heedless  of  wind  or  of  weather ; 
Building  in  sandpile  or  plucking  the  flowers, 

Ever  and  always  together. 
Shadows  of  eventide  gathering  'round 

Find  the  two  ready  to  greet  me; 
Happy  my  heart  when  I  hear  the  sweet  sound — 

Little  feet  running  to  meet  me. 

Little  Miss  Margaret  Bumpety-bump 

Perches  upon  her  Dad's  shoulder. 
Young  Master  Dickeywick  Thumpety-thump — 

Being  a  boy  and  much  bolder — 
Clings  to  Dad's  back  as  they  enter  the  door 

Ready  for  mamma's  sweet  greeting. 
Then  for  a  romp  on  the  sitting  room  floor 

For  minutes  forever  too  fleeting. 

Bedtime  at  last,  and  each  small  nodding  head 

Tells  that  the  sandman  is  trusty; 
Then  off  to  the  folds  of  the  dainty  white  bed 

Are  carried  the  youngsters  so  lusty. 
Sleep,  babies ;  sleep !  And  through  the  long  night 

May  angels  of  God  without  number 
Guard  thee  and  keep  thee  till  dawn's  rosy  light. 

In  joys  of  a  dreamless  child-slumber. 


KIDDIES    SIX 

GOOD    NIGHT— SLEEP    TIGHT 

The  old  clock  strikes  the  hour  of  eight, 
And  worn  with  childish  play 

My  little  ones  kneel  gently  down 
At  mamma's  knee  to  pray. 

Then  off  to  bed  each  sleepyhead 
To  dream  till  morning  light; 

But  ere  the  fairies'  wings  are  spread, 
They  whisper  low: 

"Good  night- 
Sleep  tight!" 

All  day  the  house  rings  with  their  play, 
And  nought  they  knew  of  care. 

The  childish  griefs  that  come  their  way 
Are  trifles  light  as  air. 

A  sob,  a  kiss,  and  all  is  well, 
And  grief  has  taken  flight; 

The  fairies  weave  their  magic  spell 
And  then  we  hear: 

"Good  night- 
Sleep  tight!" 

' '  Good  night — sleep  tight ! ' '  God  guard  your  rest. 
Then  wake  to  greet  the  day. 

"Good  night — sleep  tight!"   By  angels  blest 
As  night  hours  drift  away. 

"When  at  the  close  of  day  they  kneel 
In  little  robes  of  white, 

The  sweetest  thrills  of  love  I  feel 
To  hear  them  say: 

"Good  night- 
Sleep  tight!" 


KIDDIES     SIX  23 

AT  EVENTIDE 

Two  little  shoes,  run-down  and  worn, 

Tossed  in  the  corner  over  there; 
Two  little  stockings,  soiled  and  torn, 

Lying  beneath  the  rocking  chair. 
One  little  sweater,  one  little  cap, 

Little  knee  pants,  a  shirt  once  white — 
All  in  a  heap,  and  in  my  lap 

One  little  lad,  his  eyes  shut  tight. 

Two  little  arms  that  'round  me  twine; 

Two  sturdy  legs  worn  out  with  play; 
One  little  heart  that  beats  'gainst  mine, 

Fullof  joy  at  the  close  of  day. 
One  little  nightie  donned  at  last, 

Ready  the  lad  for  slumber  deep; 
One  more  day  with  its  joy  time  past — 

One  little  moment — then  asleep. 

Sleep,  little  boy,  till  the  morning  breaks; 

Dreamless  sleep  till  the  stars  shall  fade, 
And  the  rising  sunev'ry  songbird  wakes 

And  music  rings  in  the  leafy  glade. 
Sleep,  little  boy,  and  watch  and  ward 

O'er  thy  cot  may  the  angels  keep. 
Safe  in  the  arms  of  the  children's  Lord — 

Sleep,  little  laddie — sleep,  sleep,  sleep! 


WANTED— A  NAME 

Wanted — A  name  for  the  baby; 

That  sweet  little  mite  of  a  miss, 
With  pink  hands  and  feet,  and  puckering  lips  sweet 

Held  up  for  a  fond  parent's  kiss. 
Bosie,  or  Josie,  or  Mary; 


24  KIDDIES    SIX 

Or  Margaret,  Lilly,  or  May; 
Priscilla  or  Prue — does  any  suit  you? 
We've  just  got  to  name  her  today. 

Wanted — A  name  for  the  baby 

That's  nestling  there  fast  asleep; 
A  precious  wee  mite  on  her  pillow  of  white 

God  gave  us  to  guard  and  to  keep. 
Annie,  or  Carrie,  or  Hazel; 

Or  Annabel,  Oral  or  Jo; 
Annetta  or  Sue — does  any  suit  you? 

We've  just  got  to  name  her,  you  know. 

Wanted — A  name  for  the  baby, 

That  little  pink  image  of  love 
That  came  with  the  year  with  a  message  of  cheer, 

Straight  down  from  the  mansions  above. 
Maggie,  or  Katie  or  Flora; 

Or  Amethyst,  Kittie  or  Bess; 
All  good,  I  suppose — but  dear  goodness  knows 

We'll  just  call  her  "Sister,"  I  guess. 


LONELY 

0,  but  it's  dull  and  lonesome,  and  the  house  is  strangely 

still, 
When  the  day  is  done  and  the  setting  sun  hangs  low  o'er 

the  western  hill ; 

Silent  and  dull  and  lonely,  for  now  at  the  close  of  day, 
No  shouts  of  glee  are  awaiting  me — the  kiddies  have  gone 

away. 
Left  me,  their  dear  hands  waving,  and  faces  alight  with 

joy— 

Rena  so  tall,  Margaret  small,  Dor 'thy  and  wee  Dickey 
Boy. 


KIDDIES     SIX  25 

And  so,  when  the  twilight  gathers,  and  daylight  fades  to 

gloom, 
Silent  and  sad  and  lonely  I  wander  from  room  to  room. 

There    in   the    corner   lying    a   tattered    and    well-worii 

shoe, 
And  I  think  I  see  in  my  fancy  free  a  pink  toe  peeping 

through. 
A  small  sunbonnet  hanging  just  there  on  the  bedroom 

wall, 
And  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  quiet  room  ghost  voices 

seem  to  call — 

Voices  of  happy  children  who  left  me  but  yesterday 
For  the  woods  and  streams  and  the  sunlight  gleams  of 

the  quiet  country  way. 
And  the  ghostly  echoes  answer  the   call  of  my  lonely 

heart, 
And  I  seem  to  see  hands  beckon  me  over  the  miles  that 

part. 

Out  in  the  open  country,  out  where  the  breezes  play, 
The  kiddies  run  in  the  wind  and  sun,  happy  and  free 

and  gay, 
Picking  the  flowers  that  blossom,  and  weaving  their  daisy 

chains, 
Joining  in  song  as  they  play  along  in  the  shade  of  the 

country  lanes. 
And  the  echoes  of  joy  come  to  me  as  sitting  alone  out 

here, 

I  dream  day  dreams  of  the  woods  and  streams  that  com- 
fort my  kiddies  dear. 
Silent  and  dull  and  lonely,  and  the  home  sounds  strangely 

stilled — 
But  my  children  play  in  the  country  way — and  my  heart 

with  joy  is  filled. 


26  KIDDIES    SIX 


THREE    0'    MINE 

Eyes-io '-Brown  and  Sunny  Hair, 

And  Dickey- Winktum- Wee, 
Two  beside  my  easy  chair 

And  one  upon  my  knee. 
Thus  the  evenings  come  and  go 

Till  Mr.   Sandman's  call 
Sets  three  wee  heads  to  nodding  low 

And  tired  eyelids  fall. 
"This  is  the  way  to  Sleepytown — 
Jump  into  bed  and  cuddle  down!" 

Eyes-o '-Brown  wants  "an'mal  tales," 

Of  bears  and  woolly  things; 
While  Sunny  Hair  most  loudly  wails 

For  whirr  of  fairy  wings. 
But  Dickey- Winktum-Wee  just  winks 

His  laughing  eyes  at  me — 
I  wonder  what  the  young  man  thinks 

Perched  there  upon  my  knee? 
"So  sing  hey  ho  for  Sleepytown — 
Jump  into  bed  and  cuddle  down!" 

"Once  there  was  a  big  black  bear" — 

Two  pairs  of  eyes  grow  bright; 
Two  forms  press  closer  to  my  chair 

As  if  to  banish  fright. 
"And  once  there  was  a  brave  young  boy' 

Then  dimpled  faces  shine, 
While  I  with  fairy  lore  add  joy 

To  these  sweet  tots  of  mine. 
But  Dickey- Winkum- Wee  just  crows 
Till  off  to  Sleepytown  he  goes. 


KIDDIES     SIX  27 

''Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep" — 

The  good  night  prayers  are  said. 
The  fleecy  clouds  of  slumber  creep 

Above  each  little  head. 
Eyes-o '-Brown  and  Sunny  Hair, 

And  Dickey- Winktum-Wee — 
God  guard  and  keep  from  ev'ry  care 

My  little  ones  for  me. 
Safe  in  the  shades  of  Sleepytown — 
Tucked  in  bed  and  the  light  turned  down. 


MY   PA 

My  pa  c'n  make  th'  finest  kite 

'At  any  feller  flied; 
Th '  cross-sticks  balanced  up  jus '  right 

An'  tail  all  fixed  and  tied. 
'At  is,  my  pa  he  says  he  can, 

But  it  jus'  seems  somehow 
'At  ev'ry  time  I  ast  him  to 

He  says,  "I'm  busy  now." 

My  pa  can  take  a  wilier  stick 

An'  trim  it  nice  an'  clean, 
Then  make  a  whistle  jus'  as  slick 

As  any  feller's  seen. 
'At  is,  my  pa  he  says  he  can — 

He  can,  too ;  bet  a  dime — 
But  when  I  ast  t'  make  me  one 

He  says,  "I  haven't  time." 

My  pa  c'n  catch  th'  mostest  fish 

Of  any  man  I  know. 
He's  caught  an'  awful  lot,  I  guess; 

At  least  he's  told  me  so. 


28  KIDDIES     SIX 

But  when  I  ast  him  f'r  to'  go 
With  me  he'll  allus  say, 

His  head  a-shakin'  solemn-like, 
"I  ain't  got  time  t'day." 

My  pa  c'n  run  a  hun'erd  yards 

As  fast  as  any  man ; 
An'  beat  'em  all  hop-step-an'-jump — 

That  is,  he  says  he  c'n. 
But  when  he  runs  t'  catch  a  car 

I'm  tickled  most  to  death, 
F'r  he  don't  get  more'n  half  a  block 

Till  he's  clean  out  o'  breath. 

I  bet  my  pa  c'n  do  more  things 

An'  do   'em  better  than 
Most  any  feller  in  this  town — 

At  least  he  says  he  c'n. 
An'  then  he  picks  th'  paper  up, 

An'  by  th'  time  it's  read 
He  ain't  got  time  f'r  anything, 

'Cause  he  must  go  t'  bed. 


THE    NAME 

They  figured  first  on  Raymond, 

Then  Clarence,  George  or  John; 
They  thought  somewhat  of  Eugene, 

But  none  could  fix  upon. 
Some  thought  was  given  Edward, 

And  quite  a  bit  to  James; 
In  fact  they  were  quite  worried 

Among  so  many  names. 


KIDDIES     SIX  29 


One  good  friend  wanted  Arthur, 

Another  wanted  Paul; 
One  uncle  mentioned  Asa, 

Another  said,  "No,  Saul." 
Grandpa  suggested  William 

And  grandma  Benjamin; 
Then  went  the  list  together 

And  then  began  again. 

They  dwelt  awhile  on  Peter, 

On  Matthew,  Luke  and  Mark; 
They  argued  from  the  morning 

Until  the  day  grew  dark. 
They  argued  long  and  loudly 

Until  one  fateful  day 
They  quickly  got  together 

And  named  her  Charlotte  May. 


THE    LOOKOUT   MAN 

Now  listen,  little  children,  and  I'll  tell  a  story  true — 
And  better  you  remember,  for  it  means  a  lot  to  you — 
For  if  you  heed  the  lesson,  then  when  Christmas  time  is 

here 

You'll  get  a  lot  of  presents,  and  a  lot  of  Christmas  cheer. 
The  Lookout  Man  is  walking  when  the  stars  begin  to  peep, 
To  see  if  little  children  are  in  bed  and  fast  asleep : 
And  all  who  act  up  naughty,  and  don't  mind  their  ma's 

and  pa 's ; 
The  Lookout  Man  is  watching,  and  he'll  tell  old  Santa 

Claus. 

I  knew  a  little  fellow  once  who  got  real  bad,  and  said 
He  didn't  care  for  Santa  Claus,  and  wouldn't  go  to  bed; 
And  said  he  didn't  have  to  mind — 0,  he  was  awful  bad — 


30  KIDDIES     SIX 

And  didn't  seem  to  care  a  mite  in  making  folks  feel  sad. 
But  when  it  came  to  Christmas,  he  didn  't  get  a  thing, 
For  Santa  Glaus  had  heard  of  him,  and  not  a  thing  he'd 

bring. 
He  knew  that  bad  boy's  record — better  mind  your  ma's 

and  pa's; 
The  Lookout  Man  is  watching,  and  he'll  tell  old  Santa 

Glaus. 

J  also  knew  a  little  girl  who  was  just  awful  bad. 

She  wouldn't  learn  her  lessons,  and  she  always  got  so 

mad 

If  anybody  told  her  to  be  still  and  hush  her  noise — 
Well,  she  was  always  wishing  for  a  lot  of  Christmas  toys, 
But  when  'twas  Christmas  morning,  to  her  wonder  and 

surprise 

An  empty  stocking  hanging  in  the  corner  met  her  eyes. 
You  see,  she  acted  naughty — better  mind  your  ma's 

and  pa's; 
The  Lookout  Man  is  watching,  and  he'll  tell  old  Santa 

Glaus. 

The  Lookout  Man  is  peeping  through  the  windows  every 

night, 
And  counting  up  the   children  who   are   always   acting 

right 

And  going  off  to  bed  at  once  when  told  it's  time  to  go, 
And  never  pouting,  not  a  bit,  or  taking  clothes  off  slow. 
He  puts  them  in  the  good  book,  but  the  bad  ones  in  the 

bad— 

And  when  he  writes  a  bad  one,  0,  he  looks  just  awful  sad. 
For  he  knows  they  will  get  nothing — better  mind  your 

ma's  and  pa's; 
The  Lookout  Man  is  watching,  and  he'll  tell  old  Santa 

Glaus. 


KIDDIES     SIX  31 

"DOOD   MORNIN'  " 

Each  morning  when  the  sun  comes  up 

To  tint  the  east  with  red; 
When  birds  sing  sweet  the  day  to  greet 

In  branches  overhead, 
"Pis  then  I  fully  realize 

I'm  rich  beyond  compare, 
For  sweet  and  clear  a  voice  I  hear: 

"Dood  mornin',   pop!     You  dere?" 

The  cares  of  day  may  vest  the  night 

With  visions  dark  and  strange ; 
And  through  my  sleep  dark  phantoms  creep 

And  dismal  doubtings  range. 
But  when  the  morning  sunlight  breaks — 

Then  farewell  doubt  and  care, 
For  sweet  and  clear  a  voice  I  hear: 

"Dood  mornin,'  pop!   You  dere?" 

The  day  dawns  bright  and  hope  revives. 

The  tasks  it  brings  to  me 
Seem  to  be  small  if  but  the  call 

Comes  fraught  with  childish  glee. 
And  light  of  heart  I  face  the  day, 

For  on  its  morning  air 
Comes  music  sweet  my  ears  to  greet : 

"Dood  mornin',  pop!    You  dere?" 

When  life  is  done,  its  task  laid  down ; 

When  comes  eternity; 
I  humbly  pray  the  judgment  day 

Will  bring  one  boon  to  me. 
One  boon  I  ask  of  Thee,  dear  Lord — 

That  in  that  city  fair 
My  ears  shall  hear  that  greeting  clear : 

"Dood  mornin',  pop!    You  dere?" 


32  KIDDIES     SIX 

JUST  MONEY  ENOUGH 

I  never  cared  to  be  as  rich  as  some  men  that  I  know, 
For  riches  ain  't  the  greatest  thing  in  this  old  world  below ; 
And  men  don't  always  feel  the  best  because  they've  lots 

of  wealth, 
For  gold,  though  legal  tender,  won't  buy  its  possessor 

health. 

But  I'd  just  like  to  have  enough  of  money  so  when  I 
Am  called  on  winter  mornings  I  'd  be  able  to  reply : 
"Uh-huh!    All  right,  I'm  getting  up  in  just  a  minute," 

Then 
Roll  over  kind  o'  lazy-like  and  go  to  sleep  again. 

I  never  cared  to  own  a  yacht  or  private  car  so  fine, 
And  automobiles  are  too  strong — I  don't  want  none  in 

mine. 

I  won't  want  such  a  pile  of  gold  that  folks  will  envy  me, 
Nor  mix  in  deals  that  won't  let  my  old  conscience  feel 

quite  free. 

But  I'd  just  like  to  have  enough  laid  carefully  away 
So  when  I'm  called  at  6  a.m.  I'd  feel  quite  free  to  say: 
"Uh-huh!    Allright,  I'm  getting  up  in  just  a  minute," 

Then 
Roll  over  kind  o'  lazy-like  and  go  to  sleep  again. 

To  corner  markets,  water  stocks  and  float  a  trust  or  two 
May  be  the  things  that  millionaires  think  lots  of  fun  to  do ; 
But  I  don 't  want  to  have  no  fun  that  causes  others  woe — 
Or  by  a  robbing  set  of  laws  make  my  own  fortune  grow. 
I  don't  want  millions — that's  too  much — my  wants  are 

not  so  great; 

I  only  want  enough  so  I  at  6  a.  m.  could  state : 
"Uh-huh!     All  right,  I'm  getting  up  in  just  a  minute," 

Then 
Roll  over  kind  o'  lazy-like  and  go  to  sleep  again. 


KIDDIES     SIX  33 

DAY  DREAMS 

I  long  for  the  days  of  the  barlow  knife, 

And  the  sore  toe  tied  with  yarn; 
For  the  "mumblepeg"  and  the  ''Boston  taw" 

In  the  shade  of  the  moss-grown  barn. 
I  even  yearn  for  a  stone  bruised  heel, 

Or  a  back  burned  red  by  the  sun; 
For  the  old-time  zest  for  my  couch  of  rest 

I  had  when  the  day  was  done. 

I  long  for  the  days  of  the  "sight  unseen," 

And  the  peg  tops  spun  with  twine ; 
For  my  old-time  place  down  at  second  base         , 

As  one  of  the  village  "Nine." 
I  even  yearn  for  the  finger  bunged 

Or  the  thumb  with  a  ragged  split ; 
Or  the  old-time  lump  on  my  bulging  brow 

That  showed  where  the  baseball  hit. 

I  long  for  the  days  of  the  swimmin'  hole, 

And  the  "swish"  of  the  old  fishline; 
For  the  "croekries,"  "aggies,"  "glassies"  and 

The  "nealies"  that  once  were  mine. 
I  even  yearn  for  the  blistered  hands 

That  came  from  the  old  grub  hoe; 
For  the  appetite  that  came  with  night 

In  the  days  of  the  long  ago. 

I  long  for  the  days  that  are  long,  long  dead, 

When  my  heart  was  free  from  care; 
For  the  sunny  hours  when  my  boyish  soul 

Was  as  light  as  the  summer  air. 
But,  thank  the  Lord,  I  am  living  yet, 

And  I  thank  Him,  too,  that  I 
Can  sit  at  ease  when  the  day  is  done 

And  dream  of  the  days  gone  by. 


34  KIDDIES     SIX 

SANTA  GLAUS'  BOOKS 

When  the  evening  shadows  gather  and  the  time  is  eight 

o'clock 
You  can  hear,  if  you  will  listen,  Mr.  Sand  Man's  gentle 

knock. 

Then  you'd  better  hustle  lively — time  your  evening  pray- 
ers were  said 
And  every   boy  and   girl  well  tucked  in   downy  little 

bed. 
For  when  Mr.  Sand  Man's  knocking  sounds  the  signal, 

you  may  know. 
Santa  Glaus  is  closely  watching  from  his  palace  built 

of  snow, 
And  the  children  that  are  naughty  and  don't  mind  their 

ma's  and  pa's 
Get  their  names  down  in  the  "Bad  Book"  that  is  kept 

by  Santa  Glaus. 

Boys  who  never  split  the  kindling,  and  the  girls  who 

always  cry 
When  they're  asked  to  wash  the  dishes — Santa  Glaus  has 

got  his  eye 
On  such  boys  and  girls,  and  watches  with  a  sad  and  sorry 

look 
As  he  writes  each  name  in  sorrow  on  the  pages  of  the 

book. 
And  the  girl  who  never  hurries,  but  lets  mamma  do  the 

work, 
And  the  boy  who's  always  scheming  all  his  little  chores 

to  shirk — 
They  may  think  no  one  pays  notice  when  they  don't  help 

ma's  and  pa's, 
But  their  names  are  in  the  "Bad  Book"  that  is  kept  by 

Santa  Glaus. 


KIDDIES     SIX  35 

But  old  Santa  keeps  a  "Good  Book" — it's  the  bestest 

book  of  all, 
"Where  he  writes  the  names  of  children  who  are  prompt 

at  duty's  call. 
And  the  boys  who  splits  the  kindling  and  the  girls  who 

never  shirk 
But  rise  early  in  the  morning  and  help  mamma  with  the 

work; 
And  the  boys  who  never  grumble  when  there's  work  for 

them  to  do, 
And  the  girls  who  help  their  mammas  till  the  housework 

is  all  through — 
O,  they  needn't  ever  worry  when  it's  Christmas  time, 

because 
All  their  names  are  in  the  "Good  Book"  that  is  kept  by 

Santa  Glaus. 

Is  your  name  down  in  the  "Bad  Book?"    Well,  there's 

still  a  chance  for  you, 

And  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do. 
Don't  act  naughty,  don't  talk  rudely,  don't  be  noisy,  be 

polite, 

Get  up  early  in  the  morning,  early  into  bed  at  night. 
Cheerfully  perform  each  duty,  do  your  work  before  you 

Play, 
Never  put  off  till  tomorrow  work  than  should  be  done 

today. 
If  you  do  these  things,  dear  children,  it  will  please  your 

ma's  and  pa's, 
And  your  names  go  in  the  "Good  Book"  that  is  kept 

by  Santa  Glaus. 


36  KIDDIES    SIX 

RELICS 

A  little  box  with  tear-stained  lid 
Beneath  which  many  things  lie  hid. 
And  often  when  the  twilight's  gloom 
Paints  memory  faces  o'er  the  room, 
I  leave  the  world  of  toil  and  care, 
And  seated  in  the  old  arm  chair, 
I  ope  the  lid  and  fondly  gaze 
Upon  the  things  of  other  days. 

A  little  box  with  tear-stained  lid 
Beneath  which  sacred  things  are  hid. 
A  little  shoe  out  at  the  toe — 
0,  baby  boy,  I  love  you  so — 
.     A  tiny  cap  with  upturned  brim 
That  eloquently  speaks  of  him — 
These  are  the  treasures  laid  away 
To  gaze  upon  at  close  of  day. 

A  little  box  with  tear-stained  lid 
Beneath  which  treasured  things  are  hid. 
A  broken  top,  a  toy,  a  whip, 
A  crippled  ox  from  Noah's  ship; 
A  tiny  stocking — all  the  wealth 
That  men  secure  by  work,  or  stealth, 
Would  not  suffice  to  buy  from  me 
One  thing  I  ope  the  lid  to  see. 

A  little  box  with  tear-stained  lid 

Beneath  which  love  worn  things  are  hid. 
As  long  as  Death's  dark  angel  roams 
To  lay  a  blight  on  happy  homes, 

Full  many  a  box  will  hide  away 

The  relics  of  a  happier  day; 
And  when  the  evening's  echoes  call 
Upon  their  lids  hot  tears  will  fall. 


KIDDIES     SIX  37 

MY  CHILDREN  AND  I 

When  I  was  but  a  little  boy,  and  just  about  so  high, 
I  read  of  Lincoln's  early  toil,  and  of  how  hard  he'd  try 
To  get  some  learning  in  his  head — and  I  remember,  too, 
My  Dad  would  say,  "Remember,  son,  and  always  keep 

in  view 
Abe  Lincoln's  way  of  doing  things  and  you  will  win 

success." 
But  something  has  gone  wrong  or  else  I  sadly  miss  my 

guess. 

Fve  got  some  children  of  my  own,  but  whene'er  I  begin 
To  tell  'em  of  my  boyhood  days  they  look  at  me  and 

grin. 

I  tell  'em  when  I  was  a  boy  how  many  miles  I'd  go 

To  school,  and  tramp  with  ill-clad  feet  through  slush  and 

frozen  snow; 
How  thin  my  clothing,  poor  my  books,  how  dreary  was 

the  room 

In  which  I  sat  upon  a  bench  amidst  the  dust  and  gloom. 
I  tell  'em  how  I  had  to  toil  and  never,  never  had 
A  nickel  or  a  dime  to  spend  from  my  hard-working  Dad. 
But  when  my  children  hear  me  talk  they  discount  more 

than  half, 
And  then  they  lean  back  in  their  chairs  and  laugh,  and 

laugh  and  laugh. 

I  tell  'em  when  I  was  a  boy  we  had  no  picture  shows; 
No   matinees,   no   street   car  rides,   no   pretty   boughten 

clothes ; 
How  hard  we  children  had  to  work  from  early  dawn  till 

night, 
And  then  to  bed  in  some  cold  room  with  naught  but 

candle  light. 


38  KIDDIES     SIX 

Then  in  most  solemn  tones  I'll  try  to  make  my  children 

see 
How  awful  proud  of  their  old  Dad  they  really  ought 

to  be; 
How  much  of  all  their  youthful  joys  they  really  ought 

to  think — 
But  just  when  I'm  most  solemn-like  they'll  look  at  me 

and  wink. 

I  tell  'em  when  I  was  a  boy  bicycles  were  unknown; 
That  roller  skates  and  boughten  dolls  were  things  no 

child  could  own. 

And  then  I  try  my  very  best  to  make  'em  realize 
How  much  the  blessings  that  they  have  they  really  ought 

to  prize. 

I  draw  a  contrast  'twixt  the  time  when  I  was  just  a  lad 
And  times  like  these,  to  make    'em  seem  how  hard  a 

time  I  had. 

But  just  about  the  time  I  think  I've  got  'em  going  well 
They'll  look  at  ma,  who  merely  smiles — and  then  they 

fairly  yell. 

God  bless  their  souls!     I'm  really  glad  they're  mighty 

hard  to  stuff 
With  all  those  tough  old  tales  of  yore,  and  similar  sort 

of  guff. 
For  all  I  try  to  make  'em  think  my  boyhood  days  were 


I  guess  I  had  as  much  of  fun  as  any  fellow  had. 
I  know  I  had  a  better  time  than  my  own  father  knew 
When  he  was  but  a  little  boy — and  I'll  confess  to  you 
I  wouldn't  have  my  children  miss  a  single  childish  joy 
Because  it  never  came  my  way  when  I  was  just  a  boy. 


KIDDIES     SIX  39 

CONTENT 

Sittin'  'round  the  fire  in  the  lamplight's  mellow  glow, 
A  listenin'  to  th'  children  as  they  patter  to  an'  fro; 
Just  rockin'  back  an'  forruds,  puffin'  smoke  rings  in 

th'  air, 
With  a  conscience  clear  an'  easy,  nothin'  on  my  mind 

but  hair, 

I  am  feelin'  good  a  plenty,  an'  my  heart  is  full  o'  joy 
At  th'  very  thought  o'  livin'  midst  true  love  without 

alloy. 

So  I'll  let  the  politicians  rave  an'  rant  their  fullest  bent 
"While  I  sit  at  home  o'  evenin's  full  o'  joy  and  sweet 

content. 

Sittin'  'round  th'  fire  with  my  children  by  my  knee, 
An'  a  happy  little  mother  rockin'  gently  close  t'  me; 
I  don't  envy  Rockefeller  all  th'  gold  at  his  command, 
'Cause  I  got  more  things  t'  live  for  than  he'll  ever  have 

on  hand. 
An'  I  woudn't   exchange   places  with  th'  Laird  o'   ol 

Skiboo, 
Takin'  all  his  load  o'  trouble,  givin'  up  my  loved  ones 

true. 

But  t'  just  sit  here  a  rockin'  softly,  gently,  to  an'  fro 
Is  about  th'  sweetest  pleasure  that  I  ever  hope  t'  know. 

Happy  laughter  ringin'   'round  my  humble  little  place; 
Sweetest  smiles  a  chasm'  o'er  each  happy  little  face; 
Not  a  single  care  t '  worry  till  I  face  th '  world  again 
When  I  got  t'  marketplaces  t'  confront  my  fellowmen. 
Peace  an '  comfort  'round  me,  not  a  care  t '  cause  a  frown, 
I'm  no  millionaire,  but  only  just  th'  gladdest  man  in 

town. 

Sittin'  'round  th'  fire  listenin'  while  th'  children  sing, 
I'm  the  richest  man  in  Lincoln,  an'  as  happy  as  a  king. 


40  KIDDIES     SIX 

NOD-A-VILLE 

To  the  quaint  old  town  of  Nod-a-Ville, 

Out  there  in  the  Sundown  West; 
Just  over  the  crest  of  Slumber  Hill, 
Where  the  evening  shades  lie  cool  and  still, 

And  the  birds  have  gone  to  rest — 
To  a  quaint  old  house  on  Quiet  Street, 

Deep  shaded  by  Sleepy  Tree, 
While  the  sighing  breeze  sings  low  and  sweet 
They  haste  away  with  their  willing  feet, 

My  babies  three — with  me. 

Dick-e-Dum  marches  with   air  sedate, 

And  Margy-ree — half-past  two — 
Waddles  along  with  a  queer-toed  gait, 
Worried  for  fear  that  she  may  be  late, 

And  the  dark  blot  out  the  view. 
But  Charlotte  May — brand-new  you  know — 

She  couldn't  climb  Slumber  Hill — 
So  she  rides  a  knee  the  journey  through, 
And  the  only  comment  she  makes  's  "goo-goo," 

On  the  way  to  Nod-a-Ville. 

In  the  quaint  old  house  they  softly  creep 

As  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west; 
And  kneeling  there  in  the  silence  deep 
They  whisper  their  "lay  me  down  to  sleep," 

And  in  God's  strong  arms  rest. 
O,  Nod-a-Ville!    Through  all  the  night 

May  angels  watch  o'er  thee; 
And  when  the  morning  has  dawned  clear,  bright 
Send  back  with  their  faces  rosy  alight 

My  babies  three — to  me. 


KIDDIES     SIX  41 


THE   FLAT    OWNER'S    FATE 

A  rich  man  built  a  row  of  flats. 

All  modern  and  complete; 
A  velvet  lawn  stretched  out  in  front 

Along  the  noisy  street. 
And  then  he  tacked  a  sign  up  high 

Above  the  passing  crowd: 
"These  handsome,  modern  flats  for  rent — 

No  children  are  allowed." 

He  garnered  rents  in  golden  store 

And  riches  high  he  piled, 
The  while  the  echoes  never  rang 

With  laughter  of  a  child. 
No  childish  feet  went  pitty-pat 

Adown  the  marble  halls ; 
The  gloomy  corridors  ne'er  rang 

With  children's  happy  calls. 

The  rich  man  died,  as  all  men  must, 

And  neared  .St.   Peter's   gate, 
And  o'er  the  golden  arch  he  saw 

The  words  that  sealed  his  fate. 
The  words  he  saw  were  writ  in  flame, 

And  seared  his  hard  heart  well: 
"This  place  is  full  of  little  ones — 

You'll  have  to  go  below." 


42  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE    ROAD    TO    SMILEVILLE 

There  are  golden  roses  that  bloom  and  blow 
In  the  balmy  winds  and  the  golden  glow 
To  greet  and  cheer  as  I  daily  go 

Along  the  road  to  Smile ville. 
The  winds  sing  sweet  in  the  leafy  trees, 
And  a  rich  perfume  lades  the  summer  breeze, 
While  a  nectar  sweet  calls  the  humming  bees 

Along  the  road  to  Smileville. 

There  are  shady  nooks  in  a  flowered  lane, 
And  a  vista  clear  of  the  waving  grain; 
There's  a  balm  for  every  ache  and  pain 
Along  the  road  to  Smileville. 

There  are  songs  to  cheer  as  I  wend  my  way ; 
There  are  echoes  sweet  as  the  children  play ; 
And  the  sky  is  blue  and  my  heart  is  gay 
Along  the  road  to  Smileville. 

In  a  cosy  cottage  on  Quiet  street 
My  darlings  wait  with  their  kisses  sweet, 
And  they  run  to  meet  me  with  flying  feet 
Along  the  road  to  Smileville. 

'Tis  a  charming  road  that  is  ever  new; 
And  the  cheery  ending  is  e'er  in  view; 
And  a  lasting  welcome  is  waiting  you 
Where  ends  the  road  to  Smileville. 


KIDDIES     SIX  43 

THE   MEANEST   MAN 

I've  heard  of  men  so  awful  mean 

They'd  skin  a  flea  for  hide  and  tallow; 
Or  lick  a  soup  bowl  slick  and  clean, 

No  matter  if  'twere  deep  or  shallow. 
I've  heard  of  men  so  mean  of  heart 

They'd  squeeze  down  hard  on  ev'ry  dollar 
Until  the  Goddess  fell  apart 

And  was  compelled  to  loudly  "holler." 

I've  heard  of  men  so  mean  and  "near" 

The  thought  of  wear  gave  them  keen  twinges, 
And  so  they  climbed  the  fence  for  fear 

To  swing  the  gate  would  wear  out  hinges. 
And  once  I  knew  a  man  so  mean 

His  heart  was  wont  to  quickly  nutter 
If  children  at  his  board  were  seen 

To  use  molasses  on  bread  and  butter. 

But  of  all  men  described  as  mean 

There's  one  who's  worse  than  all  the  others; 
His  heart  so  small,  his  soul  so  lean, 

That  all  good  thoughts  he  quickly  smothers. 
He  is  so  mean,  and  always  was, 

That  as  excuse  for  never  giving 
He  says  there  is  no  Santa  Glaus — 

And  he's  the  meanest  fellow  living. 


44  KIDDIES     SIX 

HOME  AGAIN 

There 's  a  face  at  the  window  and  smiling  at  me ; 
A  little  hand  waving  in  babyish  glee. 
And  shadows  that  lurked  in  the  eventide  gloam 
Are  banished — the  baby  is  once  more  at  home ! 

The  silence  that  reigned  through  the  old  sitting-room ; 
The  hall  that  was  shrouded  in  echoless  gloom; 
And  long,  lonesome  hours  with  slow,  steady  pace — 
All  changed  by  a  glimpse  of  a  sweet  baby  face! 

The  welcomeless  coming  when  day's  toil  was  done; 
The  long,  cheerless  eve  when  dark  shadows  were  spun; 
The  long,  lonesome  night  with  no  joys  to  beguile — 
All  changed  by  the  gleam  of  a  sweet  baby  smile ! 

The  burden  of  toil  through  the  hours  of  the  day 
Grow  lighter  at  thoughts  of  an  evening  at  play 
With  baby  at  home;  and  I'm  waiting  to  see 
The  bright  smile  of  welcome  that's  waiting  for  me. 

Now  pressed  to  the  pane  is  the  sweet  smiling  face; 
A  hand  waves  a  welcome  with  infantile  grace. 
And  brighter  and  brighter  the  sun  shines  above — 
At  home  is  a  baby,  and  welcome,  and  love. 


KIDDIES     SIX  45 

GOIN'   OUT   TO   GRAN 'MA'S 

I'm  goin'  out  to  gran 'ma's  an'  have  jus'  lots  o'  fun — 
Gran 'ma  never  scolds  me  when  I  shout  an'  romp  an'  run. 
She  says  'at  little  chil'ren  'at  is  kep'  in  school  all  day 
For  more'n  eight  months  of  th'  year  has  gotter  right 

to  play. 

An'  when  I  go  to  see  her  she  jus'  says  'at  I  kin  do 
Mos'  anything  I  wrant  'er  till  vacation  time  is  through. 
I'm  sorry  for  th'  fellers  'at  can't  never  go  to  see 
Their  gran 'mas  in  vacation — mine  is  mighty  good  to  me. 

Pa  says  he'll  have  some  quiet  jus'  as  soon  as  I  leave  town,- 
But  gran 'ma  says  'at  she  jus'  loves  to  have  me  playin' 

roun'. 
An'  mamma  says  she  bet  a  cent  'at  gran 'ma  she'll  get 

mad 

At  me  for  trackin'  mud  in  doors  an'  actin'  awful  bad. 
But  when  I'm  gone  I  bet  my  pa '11  wisht  'at  I  was  back 
'Cause  when  he  smokes  it's  me  that  brings  his  ol'  ter- 

backer  sack. 
An'  mamma — well,  she'll  miss  me,  too;   'cause  when  th' 

baby's  bad 
She  says  I'm  jus'  th'  bestest  nurse  'at  she  mos'  ever  had. 

Las'  time  I  was  to  gran 'ma's,  my  papa  wrote  to  me 

An'  says  he  wants  to  see  me,  'cause  he's  lonesome  as  can 

be. 

But  gran 'ma  she  jus'  laffed  an'  said  I  better  have  my  fun, 
'Cause  pa  would  see  enough  ov  me  when  that  ol'  school 

begun. 

Say,  gran 'mas  makes  th'  bestest  jam  'at  any  boy  kin  eafr 
An'  she  ain't  allus  kickin'  'cause  a  kid  don't  wipe  his 

feet. 

She  says  it's  human  natur'  f'r  us  boys  to  be  jus'  boys — 
That's  why  I  like  to  go  there,  'cause  she  lets  us  make 

a  noise. 


46  KIDDIES     SIX 

Gee  whizz!  I'm  so  excited  that  I  jus'  can't  hardly  wait 
For  ma  to  get  me  ready — say,  she 's  slower  than  a  freight ! 
My  gran 'ma  wrote  a  letter  'at  th'  kittens  and  th'  calf 
Wus  actin'  up  so  funny  that  they'd  make  a  preacher  laff ; 
That  chickens  wus  a  scratchin'  till  she's  skeered  a 'most 

to  deff 
They'd  keep  up  with  their  scratchin'  till  she   had  no 

garden  lef. 
She  says  f'r  me  to  hurry,  an'  to  make  them  chickens 

fly- 
There  comes  th'  bus'  to  git  me — I  gotter  say  goodby. 


A   LULLABY 

There's  a  queer  little  house  in  Lullaby  Town, 

Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o ! 

Just  over  the  hill  on  the  lane  winding  down, 
And  a  queer  little  room  with  lights  burning  low, 
And  shadows  that  flicker  and  dance  to  and  fro- 
O,  haste,  little  comrade ;  together  we  '11  go — 

Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o! 

Hush-o,  my  baby;  hush-o,  my  sweet, 
Come  to  the  cottage  on  Slumberland  street, 
Clasped  to  my  heart  together  we'll  go, 
Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o ! 

On  Slumberland  street  in  Fairy  Land  Square, 

Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o ! 
Haste,  little  comrade,  we  soon  will  be  there ; 

Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o! 

Soft,  downy  couch  that  the  angels  have  spread; 
Slumber,  my  darling,  and  God  guard  thy  bed ; 
Sleep  till  the  sun  paints  the  morn  a  rich  red — 

Hush-o,  my  baby,  by-o! 


KIDDIES     SIX  47 

WRITING  IT  AT  HOME 

A  bunch  of  four — four  happy  kids 

Chock  full  of  fun  and  pleasure. 
All  four  a  mighty  big  expense, 

But  ev'ry  one  a  treasure. 
And  when  I  want  it  quiet  like 

So  I  can  do  my  writing, 
The  noise  that  bunch  begins  to  make 

Sounds  like  two  armies  fighting. 

One  clambers  over  my  machine; 

One  asks  for  help  with  "numbers." 
One  for  my  pencil  makes  demand; 

One  my  tired  knee  encumbers. 
"A  dozen  eggs  cost  forty  cents, 

What  will  three  dozen  cost?" 
And  by  the  time  I  work  it  out 

My  thread  of  thought  is  lost. 

One  sticky  hand  is  reaching  out 

To  grasp  my  thinning  locks. 
One  piercing  voice  makes  loud  demand 

For  help  with  building  blocks. 
' '  My  peneil  's  broke ;  please  sharpen  it 

So  I  can  write  the  rest"- 
And  then  the  thoughts  I've  garnered  in 

Are  all  knocked  galley  west. 

But  when,  at  last,  the  sandman  comes 

And  all  four  little  heads 
Are  resting  on  the  pillows  white 

Of  two  soft,  downy  beds; 
And  all  is  quiet  'round  the  house 

Where  once  the  noise  did  ring, 
I  start  to  write — and  then  can't  think 

Of  a  dodgasted  thing! 


48  KIDDIES    SIX 

BED    TIME 

Weary  with  play  but  with  eyes  aglow 
With  love  that  the  babies  only  know; 
Tired  of  roaming  through  room  and  hall; 
Tired  of  answering  each  other's  call — 
So,  when  shadows  of  evening  creep, 
And  friends,  the  birdies,  have  gone  to  sleep, 
Two  tired  kiddies  come  close  to  me, 
Perch  each  one  .on  a  favorite  knee, 
Nestle  two  heads  on  my  willing  breast, 
Then  sigh  contented  and  sink  to  rest. 

"From  Widdleton  to  Waddleton  is  fourteen  miles; 

From  Widdleton   to  Waddleton, 
From  Waddleton  to  Widdleton, 
From  Widdleton  to  Waddleton  is  fourteen  miles." 

Shining  brown  eyes  looking  into  mine, 

Four  loving  arms  that  around  me  twine ; 

Two  little  hearts  that  are  full  of  joy — 

Goldenhaired  girl  and  a  sturdy  boy — 

I  sing  for  them  in  humble  rhymes 

Of  the  giant  days  and  the  fairy  times. 

Thus  does  the  eventide  glide  by 

Till  the  sandman  closes  each  sleepy  eye, 

And  sinking  to  sleep  in  my  sheltering  arm 

I  leave  them  to  Him  who  will  shield  from  harm. 

"Rich  man  livin'  in  de  city  o'  Jerusalem, 

O,  bless  de  Lam', 

O,  bless  de  Lam', 
Rich  man  livin'  in  de  city  o'  Jerusalem, 

0,  bless  de  Lam'!" 

Nestled  in  bed  'neath  the  covers  warm, 
Shielded  from  storms  that  would  do  them  harm ; 


KIDDIES     SIX  49 

Two  little  kiddies  are  laid  to  rest 

When  the  sundown  purple  fades  from  the  west. 

And  bending  over  their  snow-white  bed 

I  breathe  a  blessing  upon  each  head. 

And  answering  shadow  a  message  brings 

That  comes  with  rustle  of  angel's  wings — 

A  message  of  love  for  my  darlings  there 

Asleep  and  under  the  good  Lord's  care. 

"Sleep,  little  babies,  sleep,  sleep,  sleep, 
God  in  His  goodness  keep,  keep,  keep. 

Dream  happy  dreams 

While  the  starlight  gleams, 
Sleep,  little  babies,  sleep,  sleep,  sleep." 


BABY'S    SHOES 

Lay  them  away,  stained  by  a  mother's  tears; 
Precious  keepsakes  through  the  coming  years. 
The  baby's  shoes,  the  tips  now  slightly  worn — 

The  spring  heels  frayed  by  running  o'er  the  floor — 
Lay  them  away,  with  heartstrings  wrenched  and  torn, 

For  baby's  feet  will  wear  them  never  more. 
But  through  the  gloom  of  all  the  coming  years 
The  baby's  shoes  will  ope  the  fount  of  tears. 

Lay  them  away,  and  sacred  memory 
Will  cluster  'round  them  till  his  face  we  see — 
Until  in  robes  of  angels'  purest  white, 

With  harp  swept  by  his  little  fingers  blest, 
His  smile  shall  banish  all  the  gloom  of  night 
And  call  us  to  his  Father's  endless  rest. 
Those  little  shoes!    Through  all  the  coming  years 
They'll  speak  of  him,  and  fill  our  eyes  with  tears. 


60  KIDDIES     SIX 

Lay  them  away!   No  more  will  baby  feet 
Bun  to  the  gate  with  patt'ring  music  sweet. 
Upon  the  shores  of  brighter,  endless  day 

He  stands.    He  smiles  and  waves  his  hand, 
And  after  we  have  quit  life's  weary  way 

We'll  greet  our  baby  in  that  better  land. 
And  so  we'll  keep  these  shoes  through  all  the  years 
That  they  may  banish  all  our  doubts  and  fears. 


OFF  TO   SCHOOL 

We  haven't  any  "little  girl"— 

With  eyes  alight  with  glee, 
And  hair  in  many  a  dancing  curl, 

Her  happy  heart  care  free, 
She  started  off  to  school  today 

And  mama's  heart  is  sore; 
"Our  baby's  gone,"  I  heard  her  say; 

"Our  little  girl  no  more." 

We  lost  our  little   girl  today. 

With  eager,  hurrying  feet 
She  sped  with  laughter  light  and  gay 

Along  the  busy  street. 
And  watching  her  a  mother's  eyes 

Grew  moist  with  unshed  tears 
As  backward  now  her  mem'ry  flies 

Through  quickly  vanished  years. 

We  lost  our  little   girl  today. 

With  lightly  tripping  feet 
She  hurries  on  her  schoolward  way 

Far  down  the  city  street. 
But  though  the  years  speed  swiftly  by 

Into  eternity, 
She'll  be,  however  fast  they  fly, 

"My  little  girl"  to  me. 


KIDDIES     SIX  51 

HELLO,   POP! 

His  photograph!    Our  joy  and  pride— 
The  picture  of  our  boy  who  died! 

I  seem  to  hear,  'midst  tears  that  drop 
Upon  its  face,  his  loving  call 
Come  ringing  down  the  darkened  hall 

To  give  me  greeting:     "Hello,  Pop!" 

It  seems  but  yesterday  he  died — 
But  yesterday  we  stood  beside 

His  bed  and  watched  his  eyelids  drop 
To  sleep  and  wake  in  endless  day — 
But  yesterday  I  heard  him  say 

With  dying  accents:     "Goodbye,  Pop!" 

Last  night  I  dreamed  he  stood  again 
With  face  pressed  to  the  windowpane 

And  watched  to  see  my  motor  stop ; 
That  when  he  heard  me  at  the  door 
He  quickly  toddled   'cross  the  floor 

And  met  me,  shouting:    "Hello,  Pop!" 

Sometimes,  when  daylight  fades  to  gloom 
And  ghostly  shadows  fill  the  room 

I  feel  again  the  swelling  joy; 
For,  from  the  shadows  around  about, 
I  hear  once  more  his  joyful  shout 

In  boyish  tones:    "I'm  papa's  boy!" 

When,  after  death 's  cold,  chilly  hands 
Have  loosed  the  last  of  earthly  bands 

And  caused  life's  weary  load  to  drop. 
I'll  feel  it  is  supremest  joy 
To  meet,  at  heaven's  gate,  my  boy, 

And  hear  his  welcome :    ' '  Hello,  Pop ! ' ' 


52  KIDDIES     SIX 

A    SHOCK 

The  Biggest  Boy,  who  flew  the  nest 

A  few  short  years  ago, 
And  settled  in  the  sundown  west, 

Now  writes  me:    "Dad,  you  know 
I've  met  Her!    She's  the  girl  for  me- 

We  want  your  blessing,  Dad. 
June  10  the  wedding  is  to  be, 

And  gee,  dear  Dad,  I'm  glad." 

The  Biggest  Boy  to  wed?     Dear  me, 

It  seems  but  yesterday 
I  saw  him  run  in  childish  glee 

To  boyhood's  laughing  play; 
But  yesterday  in  roundabouts, 

Barefooted,  tousled-head, 
Around  the  house  with  noisy  shouts — 

Now  in  a  month  he  '11  wed ! 

Last  night  I  saw  the  shadows  creep 

And  heard  the  youngster  say 
His  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 

When  tired  with  childish  play. 
Last  night  it  seems — 'twas  years  ago. 

Ah,  me,  how  time  has  sped ! 
The  lad  now  writes  to  let  me  know 

That  in  a  month  he'll  wed! 

All  right,  my  boy.    One  wish  for  you : 

May  she  you've  chosen  be 
As  staunch  and  helpful,  good  and  true, 

As  my  wife's  been  to  me. 
And  if  my  wish  comes  true,  my  boy, 

You're  blest  beyond  compare. 
Your  days  will  all  be  days  of  joy, 

Your  skies  be  always  fair. 


KIDDIES     SIX  53 

The  Biggest  Boy  to  wed!     All  right; 

But  that  recalls  to  mind, 
As  here  I  sit  this  summer  night, 

The  long  years  now  behind. 
I  wish  you  happiness,  my  boy; 

I'm  glad  because  you're  glad. 
And  wishing  you  life's  greatest  joy, 

I'm  lovingly,  YOUR  DAD. 


AT    EVENTIDE 

Eeney,  meeney,   miney,   mo — 

Into  bed  the  babies  go! 
A  little  dress  in  the  corner  there, 

A  pair  of  trousers  behind  the  door ; 
The  frayed-out   stockings  upon  the   chair, 

And  well-worn  sandals  upon  the  floor. 
All  the  day  long  have  the  little  feet 

Pattered  around  in  their  childish  play; 
Voices  that  rang  with  a  laughter  sweet, 

Stilled  and  hushed  at  the  close  of  day. 
Then  the  sandman  comes — creep,  creep,  creep — 
And  the  tired  babies  are  soon  asleep. 

Onery,  orry,  ickery,  Ann — 

Into  bed  for  the  old  sandman! 
A  sticky  print  on  the  windowpane, 

A  muddy  track  on  the  hallroom  floor; 
Four  little  feet  walking  By-lo  Lane, 

And  stillness  is  ushered  in  once  more. 
All  the  day  long  and  the  cottage  rings 

With  elfin  sounds  of  their  childish  glee ; 
Then  the  night  time  comes  and  with  it  brings 

Quiet  and  lonesomeness  for  me. 
For  the  sandman's  come — creep,  creep,  creep — 
And  I'm  alone  in  the  silence  deep. 


54  KIDDIES     SIX 

Fillison,  follison,  Nicholas,  John — 

Bless  the  babes  my  eyes  rest  on! 
A  happy  pair  in  the  little  bed, 

Dreaming  the  dreams  that  the  angels  send; 
Snuggled  so  warm  'neath  the  covers  spread, 

Tired  but  happy  at  the  long  day's  end. 
All  forgot  are  the  bumps  and  the  falls, 

And  all  forgot  are  the  pains  and  aches; 
Memory  fails  when  the  sandman  calls — 

Never  returns  when  the  sun-god  wakes. 
And  I  rest  content  till  the  morning  glad 
Brings  welcome  shouts  of  "Dood  mornin',  dad!' 


LOUIS  AND  RUTH 

I've  got  a  brand-new  daughter  now, 

And  proud  I  am  of  her; 
Although  it  rather  seems,  somehow, 

As  if  she  really  were 
A  sign  that  I  am  growing  old, 

That  many  years  have  sped; 
That  oft  the  bells  dead  years  have  tolled- 

The  "Biggest  Boy"  has  wed. 

It  seems  that  only  yesterday 

I  wound  his  wounded  toe 
With  yarn  in  the  old-fashioned  way — 

'Twas  really  years  ago! 
It  seems  but  just  a  day  or  two 

Since  off  to  school  he   ran; 
But  "Biggest  Boy"  now  looms  to  view 

As  a  new  married  man. 

Gee  whiz!   How  Tempus  fugits  by — 
I've  got  a  daughter-in-law! 


KIDDIES     SIX  55 

It  seems  so  short  a  time  since  I 

Was  playing  "Boston  taw;" 
So  brief  a  time  since,  free  and  glad, 

I'd  gaily  romp  and  run — 
And  now  to  think  that  I'm  the  Dad 

Of  a  big  married  son! 

Well,  I  admit  my  shadow  turns 

And  points  the  eastward  way; 
That  memory's  incense  sweetly  burns 

To  many  a  yesterday. 
But,  praise  the  Lord,  although  the  gray 

In  my  hair  has  a  start, 
I  can  with  truth  stand  up  and  say 

I'm  keeping  young  of  heart. 

So,   daughter,   you've   a  welcome  here 

Like  blooming  flowers  of  May; 
To  us  you'll  be  both  near  and  dear 

Forever   and  a   day. 
But  I'll  admit  it  seems  quite  queer, 

When  all  is  done  and  said, 
That  I've  a  brand-new  daughter  here 

'Cause  "Biggest  Boy"  is  wed. 


ABSENCE 

How  big  a  little  house  can  be 

When  all  have  gone  away 
And  left  no  one  at  home  but  me ; 

How  dreary,  grim  and  gray 
The  shadows  are  at  eventide, 

When  lone  and  tired  I  come 
And  have  no  one  to  sit  beside 

Me  when  at  last  I'm  home. 


56  KIDDIES     SIX 

The  hall  seems  leagues  of  distance  wide, 

Each  room  a  vast  estate ; 
Dark  forms  in  dusky  corners  hide 

And  terrors  lie  in  wait. 
Deep  silence  reigns,  and  over  all 

The  lonesome  shadows  creep; 
I  list  to  hear  a  soft  footfall 

From  out  the  silence  deep. 

No  welcome  laugh,  no  smiling  face, 

No  eager,  running  feet 
To  meet  me  as  I  near  the  place; 

No  kiss  from  lips  so  sweet. 
A  barren  isle  in  widespread  sea; 

A  rock  in  desert  wide; 
No  hands  that  beckon  unto  me 

Near  home  at  eventide. 

And  yet,  ere  morning  sun  awakes 

I  feel  a  presence  sweet; 
Dream  faces  dreary  fancy  breaks 

And  bring  a  joy  complete. 
I  feel  the  touch  of  little  hands, 

See  smiles  of  childish  glee ; 
And  as  from  far-off  Fairyland 

My  children  come  to  me. 

O'er  low-flung  hills  and  valleys  wide, 

Far  from  the  city's  strife, 
Midst  country  scenes  where  joys  abide 

Are  children  dear  and  wife. 
So  what  care  I  if  dark  and  drear 

The  cottage  seems  to  be, 
If  brown  and  strong  my  kiddies  dear 

Soon  hasten  home  to  me! 


KIDDIES     SIX  57 

TO   LITTLE    BILL 

[Born,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ray  G.  Stewart,  of  Cedar 
Rapids,  la.,  on  March  13,  1911,  a  son.  A  card  announces 
that  "Bill"  arrived  and  weighed  in  at  ten  pounds.] 


Why,  Hello,  Bill!     God  bless  your  safe  arriving. 

You're  welcome  as  the  flowers  are  in  May. 
We've  waited  quite  a  spell,  the  while  contriving 

To  wait  in  patience  for  your  natal  day. 
And  now  you're  here  may  every  choicest  treasure 

Old  nature  has  in  stock  be  yours  until 
You've  lived  to  round  out  man's  allotted  measure 

And  Peter  greets  you  with  a  "Hello,  Bill!" 

Hello,  again!    God  bless  you  and  your  mother. 

My,  how  we'd  like  to  take  you  by  the  hand 
And  tell  you  that  there  isn't  such  another 

As  you  in  all  this  blooming  country  grand. 
And  may  you  live  to  reach  life's  highest  honor, 

A  joy  and  comfort  through  both  good  and  ill ; 
And  for  the  little  mother,  heap  upon  her 

The  sweetest  crown  of  motherhood,  dear  Bill. 

Yes,  Hello,  Bill!    Your  welcome's  more  than  double. 

You're  just  a  little  late,  but  now  you're  here 
We've  quite  forgot  a  lot  of  things  that  trouble 

And  greet  you  with  the  warmest  of  good  cheer. 
May  all  your  days  be  days  of  June,  and  sunny; 

Your  sorrows  quite  as  light  as  ocean  foam; 
And  may  you  never  lack  for  friends  or  money, 

Or  for  the  perfect  joys  of  home,  sweet  home. 

Yes,  Hello,  Bill !     WTe  're  mighty  glad  you  landed 
Just  when  and  where  you  did,  you  lucky  tyke. 
You've  got  a  mother  sweet,  dad  openhanded — 


58  KIDDIES     SIX 

In  fact,  a  pair  of  parents  that  you'll  like. 
And  may  their  fondest  dreams  have  sweet  fulfilling; 

May  you  their  lives  with  richest  comfort  fill. 
May  you  buck  up  to  life  and  "make  a  killing" — 
Here's  hoping  that  you  get  there. 

UNCLE  BILL. 
Lincoln,  Nebr.,  March  15,  1911. 


HIS  FATE 

Little   Willie   Wait-a-Bit 
Intended  well  to  mind, 

But,  somehow,  always  managed  it 
To  be  a  bit  behind. 

"In  a  minute,"  he  would  say 

When  time  came  to  cease  his  play. 

Little  Willie  Wait-a-Bit 

Grew  to  be  a  man; 
But  he  loved  to  sit  and  sit 

Scheming  out  some  plan. 
"In  a  minute,"  he  would  say, 
"I  will  get  to  work  straightway. 

Mr.  William  Wait-a-Bit 
Neared  St.  Peter's  Gate, 

But,  alas,  he  managed  it 
So  that  he  was  late. 

"Wait  a  minute!"  shouted  he; 

But  St.  Peter  turned  the  key. 

William  Wait-a-Bit  was  sent 

To  the  nether  clime, 
Where  without  his  own  intent 

He  arrived  on  time. 
Now  he  mourns  his  torrid  fate, 
For  his  master  will  not  wait. 


>  > 


KIDDIES     SIX  59 

YOUNG  AMERICA 

We  were  up  at  early  morning,  and  the  echoes  quickly 

woke, 
And    the    atmosphere    was    murky    with    the    clouds    of 

powder  smoke. 
We  whooped  it  up  for  Washington,  and  Israel  Putnam, 

too, 
But   we    whooped   it   up   the    loudest   for    old   Yankee- 

Doodle-do. 

Every  blister  was  a  token  of  our  love  of  liberty, 
And  we  fired  salutes  in  plenty  to  the  banner  of  the  free. 
'Twas  a  grand  old  celebration,  full  of  noise  and  smoke 

galore, 
And  considered  something  bully  by  a  lad  aged  4. 

He  shot  off  the  biggest  crackers,  and  for  him  the  rockets 
flew, 

And  for  liberty  he  shouted,  and  for  Yankee-Doodle,  too. 

And  he  killed  a  million  foemen,  more  or  less — I  think 
'twas  more — 

With  a  gun  that  shot  from  Q  street  to  the  furthest  foe- 
man's  shore. 

When  he  lit  the  cannon  crackers  with  a  glowing  bit  of 
punk 

Ev'ry  enemy  of  Freedom  thought  it  wise  to  quickly 
flunk. 

Yes,  he  waved  the  starry  banner  till  the  great  day  was 
no  more, 

Did  this  patriot  so  sturdy  who  is  aged  just  4. 

We  were  up  at  early  morning  and  the  lad  was  in  com- 
mand, 

And  we  whooped  for  dear  Old  Glory  in  a  way  to  beat 
the  band. 

Every  blister  on  our  fingers  was  a  sign  of  victory, 


60  KIDDIES     SIX 

"While   the   stains   of   burning   powder   filled   our   souls 

with  ecstacy. 

He  was  acting  major  gen'ral,  I  the  private  in  the  ranks, 
And  I  know  he   is  deserving  of  the  nation's   grateful 

thanks. 

He's  a  royal,  true-blue  soldier,  patriotic  to  the  core, 
Is  this  sturdy  little  fellow  who  is  aged  just  4. 


LOOKING  BACKWARD 

The  crackers  don't  sound  as  loud  as  of  yore, 

And  rockets  don't  fly  so  high; 
Somehow  the  candles  don't  sizz-z-z  and  roar 

As  they  did  in  a  past  July. 
And  candy  and  cake,  and  the  jams  and  jell 

Don't  taste  as  they  tasted  then — 
Ah,  me;  'tis  the  tale  that  the  long  years  tell 

To  the  graybaired  boys  grown  men. 

There's  never  a  day  that  we  celebrate 

That  makes  the  blood  run  fast 
Like  it  did  'way  back  on  a  distant  date, 

On  a  Fourth  that  has  long  since  passed. 
The  singers  can't  sing  and  the  bands  can't  play 

As  loud  and  as  sweet  as  then; 
Nor  the  sky  so  blue  or  the  crowds  so  gay 

Since  we  are  the  grayhaired  men. 

Ah,  wouldn't  you  give  of  silver  and  gold 

If  you  could  up  and  away 
On  the  backward  road  till  your  eyes  behold 

The  Fourth  of  a  yesterday. 
And  wouldn't  the  crackers  send  forth  a  roar: 

And  wouldn't  the  rockets  fly? 
What  wouldn't  you  give  if  a  boy  once  more 

On  an  old-time  Fourth  of  July? 


KIDDIES     SIX  61 

LET    'EM   RIDE 

When  you  see  a  little  fellow  with  a  sled  of  red  and 

yellow, 

And  his  cheeks  with  winter  roses  all  aglow; 
Don't  whip  up  and  shriek  with  laughter  when  he  vainly 

follows  after, 

But  pull  up  and  let  your  horses  saunter  slow. 
Let  him  have  his  chance  to  "hook  on"  while  you  smile 

and  gladly  look  on, 

Then  "gid'ap!"  and  trot  off  with  the  extra  load. 
You  will  never  know  what  joy  is  till  you  know  some 

happy  boy  is 
"Hooked  behind"  and  gaily  sliding  down  the  road. 

I  have  known  some  selfish  creatures  who  wore  scowls 

upon  their  features 

And  who  always  have  green  hate  upon  the  mind, 
Who  would  take  an  endless  measure  of  a  most  peculiar 

pleasure — 

They  would  grin  at  ev'ry  chance  to  "whip  behind." 
When  the  lash  with  cruel  hissing  curls  behind,  and  sel- 
dom missing, 

Gives  the  boy  a  cruel  hurt  and  breaks  his  hold, 
Old  Nick  grins  and  says,  "I've  cinched  him!     That's  a 

sign  my  imps  have  pinched  him ; 
There's  a  driver  I'll  protect  from  future  cold." 

Bless  the  man  who  smiles  while  looking  at  the  happy 

boy  who's  hooking 

On  behind  and  gaily  riding  on  his  sled. 
May  that  man  find  each  day  sunny,  may  he  have  good 

health  and  money, 

May  life's  choicest  blessings  rest  upon  his  head. 
If  by  providence  empowered  I  would  have  rich  blessings 
showered 


62  KIDDIES     SIX 

Every  day  upon  the  man  so  good  and  kind 
That  he  always  says,  "All  right,  son;  hook  behind  and 

hold  on  tight,  son!" 
He's  all  right — the  man  who  never  whips  behind. 


VACATION    TIME 

Grim  silence  reigns — through  all  the  rooms  and  halls 

No  echoes  ring,  no  eager,  laughing  cries. 
I  miss  the  sound  of  loving,  childish  calls 

When  daylight  into  sombre  twilight  dies. 
No  little  feet  come  dancing  down  the  walk; 

No  laughing  eyes  look  brightly  up  to  me. 
I  yearn  in  vain  for  childish,  prattling  talk — 

And  I  am  lonely  now  as  I  can  be. 

The  ghosts  walk  out,  and  at  the  midnight  hour 

I  dimly  see  amidst  the  misty  gloom 
Four  childish  faces,  each  one  like  a  flower, 

That  smile  at  me  across  the  silent  room. 
I  smile  at  them,  and  from  my  easy  bed 

I  wave  my  blessing;  and  they  fade  away; 
Their  loving  smiles,  like  blessings  o'er  me  spread, 

Remain  until  the  rosy  dawn  of  day. 

The  cottage  home  is  lonesome  now,  and  still ; 

But  far  away,  adown  the  country  lane 
And  by  the  banks  of  sunny,  rippling  rill, 

I  know  four  happy  tots  new  health  will  gain. 
I  sit  at  eventide  and  wait  the  time  to  sleep, 

And  know  full  well  the  midnight  hour  will  see 
Four  misty  forms  that  from  the  gloom  will  creep 

And  smile  their  loving  blessings  over  me. 


KIDDIES     SIX  63 

JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 

The  Little  Boy  is  sad  and  lone 

And  not  inclined  to  play. 
He  talks  in  soft  and  tender  tone 

To  toys  he's  laid  away. 
For  he  has  faced  the  question  old 

Whose  answer  none  can  tell — 
And  as  he  waits,  clear,  soft  and  cold 

He  hears  the  tolling  bell. 

He  misses  from  the  usual  place 

The  form  he  loved  so  true; 
He  fails  to  see  one  smiling  face, 

He  hears  no  ' '  Howdy-do ! ' ' 
In  vain  he  turns  to  Brer  B'ar, 

And  Brer  Kabbit's  dumb; 
Brer  Fox  says  naught  when  he  asks,  "Why 

Don't  Uncle  Remus  come?" 

The  Little  Boy  is  sad  today 

And  mourns  his  playmate  dead. 
He  does  not  care  to  laugh  and  play 

With  toys  around  him  spread. 
Across  the  hills  the  cortege  sweeps, 

The  band  plays  soft  and  low; 
And  Little  Boy  in  silence  weeps — 

He  loved  his  playmate  so. 

The  animals  that  told  queer  tales 

With  Uncle  Remus'  tongue 
Are  dumb  forever,  Little  Boy — 

Your  heart  with  grief  is  wrung. 
You  ask  in  vain  the  whence  and  why, 

But  we  who've  older  grown 
Can  but  confess  we've  no  reply, 

And  you  must  grieve  alone. 


64  KIDDIES     SIX 

But,  Little  Boy,  in  God's  own  time 

Your  playmate  you  will  see; 
In  some  fair  land,  in  some  fair  clime, 

Where  many  mansions  be. 
Then,  Little  Boy,  you'll  clasp  his  hands, 

And  walk  the  sunlit  way 
With  Uncle  Remus — comrades  two — 

Forever  and  a  day. 


NEVER  AGAIN 

I  wish  the  crackers  would  sound  as  loud 

As  they  did  in  the  days  gone  by. 
I  wish  the  candy  would  taste  as  sweet 

As  it  did  in  a  past  July. 
I  wish  the  chums  of  the  days  of  yore 
Would  gather  about  in  the  grove  once  more, 
And  take  their  part  in  the  great  day's  roar, 

Under  the  July  sky. 
I  wish  the  skies  were  as  clear  and  blue 

As  they  were  in  the  days  of  old. 
I  wish  the  sunlight  would  gleam  again 

With  the  shimmer  of  burnished  gold. 
I  wish  the  boys  of  that  yesterday 
From  over  the  hills  and  far  away 
Would  come  again  with  light  hearts  gay, 

Under  the  old  flag's  fold. 

I  wish  their  laughter  would  ring  again 

As  it  did  in  the  years  long  fled. 
I  wish  that  youth  could  hover  once  more 

O'er  the  curls  of  each  care-free  head. 
I  know  such  wishes  can  never  be, 
But  we  can  gather  again,  care  free, 
For  one  more  day,  just  you  and  me — 

Boys,  though  we're  grown  up  men. 


KIDDIES     SIX  f.  65 

PAY    DAY 

I  have  had  a  lot  of  pleasure  in  this  good  old  world  of 

ours; 
And  the   path  I'm   daily   treading  blooms   with   never 

fading  flowers. 
Happy  laughter  of  my  children  greets  my  ears  with  music 

sweet 
"When  they  see  me  homeward  coming  down  the  city's 

busy  street. 

But  a  day  of  days  I  cherish  as  the  long  week  saunters  by, 
Looking  forward,  gay  and  happy,  with  the  lovelight  in 

my  eye, 
And  when  this  great  day  is  finished  how  my  heart  with 

rapture  hums 

"When  I  face  the  cashier 's  window  and  the 
Pay 

Check 
Comes. 

Here 's  a  pair  of  shoes  for  baby,  and  a  dress  for  Dorothy ; 
Here's  a  coat  for  laughing  Rena  that  will  make   her 

dance  to  see. 
Here's  the  fuel  that  will  warm  them  when  the  blasts  of 

winter  shriek; 
Here's  a  bunch  of  joy  and  comfort  that  will  last  another 

week. 

And  my  heart  is  light  and  happy  as  I  toil  day  after  day, 
"While  the  smiles  of  happy  children  shed  a  bright  light 

on  my  way. 
And  my  weary  steps  grow  lighter,  and  my  heart  with 

rapture  drums 

When  I  face  the  cashier's  window  and  the 
Pay 

Check 
Comes. 


66  KIDDIES     SIX 

Just  a  tinted  bit  of  paper,  but  it  holds  a  wealth  of  joy — 

Home  and  comfort  without  measure,  happiness  without 
alloy. 

Hour  by  hour  I  toil  with  pleasure  for  I  know  the  mo- 
ments count. 

Beat  by  beat,  each  stroke  is  adding  to  my  honest  week's 
account. 

Every  moment  adds  a  pleasure  to  the  loved  ones  in  the 
nest, 

While  the  thought  nerves  me  to  labor  with  a  never  failing 
zest. 

Tis  for  wife  and  babes— God  bless  'em — and  my  heart 
with  rapture  hums 

When  I  face  the  cashier's  window  and  the 
Pay 

Check 
Comes. 


TWO   WEEKS   AFTER 

The  drum  is  now  busted, 

The  wagon  wheels  bent, 
The  trumpet  is  noiseless 

From  many  a  dent. 
The  woolly  sheep  bleats 

When  you  squeeze  it  no  more, 
The  fragments  of  toys 

Now  litter  the  floor. 
But  what  of  it  all? 

Clear  the  littered  up  stuff — 
The   children   enjoyed   them 

And  that  is  enough. 


KIDDIES     SIX  67 

THE    OPEN    SEASON 

April  now,  and  I  must  take 
Rod  and  reel  and  hunt  a  lake; 
Tramp  the  shore  light-hearted,  glad; 
Cast  out  'neath  some  lilypad. 
Fill  my  lungs  with  clean  ozone, 
Lift  my  voice  in  lusty  tone; 
Watch  the  white  clouds  sailing  high 
'Cross  the  blue  of  April's  sky. 

April  now,  my  desk  is  clean; 
Trees  and  grass  are  showing  green; 
Tang  of  springtime  in  the  air — 
Goodbye,  now,  old  office  chair! 
Off  I  lay  life's  weary  load 
And  go  tramping  down  the  road — 
Down  the  road  between  the  trees, 
Drinking  deep  the  April  breeze. 

April  now,  and  field  and  stream 
Bathed  in  April's  golden  gleam 
Bid  me  up  and  haste  away 
Where  the  sunbeams  dance  and  play. 
Out  from  dusty,  dreary  mart, 
Close  to  Mother  Nature's  heart. 
Out  where  springtime  wakes  anew 
'Neath  the  April  sky  of  blue. 

April  now,  and  songbirds  wake 
Echoes  from  each  bough  and  brake. 
Green  the  grass  beneath  my  feet, 
Flowers  spread  their  odors  sweet; 
Out  across  the  field  and  fen, 
Onward  through  the  woodland  glen, 
Where  the  long,  black  furrows  lie 
'Neath  the  sheen  of  April's  sky. 


68  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE   PESSIMIST 

The  cold  and  biting  wind  gives  me  a  feeling 

That  I  must  ready  be  to  pay  the  toll 
Which  is  imposed  upon  me  when  I'm  dealing 

With  those  who  hold  me  up  for  winter  coal. 
The  dead  leaves  lie  upon  my  lawn,  and  shaking 

From  off  the  trees  in  whirling  clouds  alight ; 
And  I  must  up  at  morn  and  set  to  raking 

To  have  a  bonfire  for  the  kids  at  night. 

I  sit  me  down  to  read  the  evening  paper, 

And  all  I  see  upon  the  printed  page 
Is  some  divorce  news,  tariff  dope  or  football  caper, 

Or  else  the  words  of  big  pugs  in  a  rage. 
I  dig  up  two  plunks  at  the  theatre, 

And  hope  to  see  a  drama  worth  my  while; 
But  find,  alas,  the  play's  by  a  creator 

Who  thinks  it  best  to  picture  all  that's  vile. 

I  think  sometimes  I'll  go  out  for  a  season 

And  talk  with  neighbors  on  some  topics  live ; 
But  find  quite  soon  that  he  won't  list  to  reason, 

But  wants  to  play  at  "cinch"  or  else  "high  five." 
At  noon  I  drop  my  work  the  briefest  minute 

And  hasten  out  to  get  a  frugal  lunch; 
Then  all  I  hear  is  "Jeffries  isn't  in  it!" 

Or  ' '  Jim  '11  put  him  out  with  just  one  punch ! ' ' 

At  eve  I  hasten  homeward  worn  and  weary, 

As  hungry  as  a  bear  and  rather  late. 
I'm  stopped  by  some  wardworker,  red  and  bleary, 

Who  tells  me  all  about  his  candidate. 
0,  would  that  I  with  Cook  or  Peary's  legions 

Had  made  a  dash  towards  the  frozen  pole, 
And  there,  amidst  those  chilly  polar  regions, 

Found  solitude  to  rest  my  weary  soul. 


KIDDIES    SIX 

FANCIES 

I  used  to  sit  in  the  firelight's  glow, 
As  flickering  flames  danced  to  and  fro, 
And  see  great  scenes  in  the  embers  bright — 
Smiling  Dryads  and  fairies  light ; 
Towering  castles  and  faces  fair; 
Knights  who  answered  the  bugle 's  blare ; 
Verdant  valleys  and  far-flung  hills — 
In  the  redhot  coals  that  the  fire-place  fills. 

Alas,  alack! 

No  longer  so ; 
All  things  look  black 

When  fire  burns  low. 
Never  a  valley 

And  no  more  hills — 
Merely  a  glimpse 

Of  more  coal  bills. 

Where  once  I  viewed  in  the  dancing  flames 
Courtiers  gay  and  bepowdered  dames. 
Armored  knights  with  the  lance  athrust — 
I  see  naught  now  but  the  grim  coal  trust, 
Every  flame  that  the  chimney  fills 
Whispers  to  me  of  the  dollar  bills: 
Mocks  my  face  till  I'm  filled  with  rage 
At  thoughts  of  long  spent  summer  wage. 

Alas,  0  my! 

No  po-et-ree, 
Just  sob  and  sigh 

In  flames  for  me. 
Never  a  Dryad, 

To  give  me  thrills — 
Merely  a  hint 

Of  more  coal  bills. 


70  KIDDIES    SIX 

THE  REASON 

I  often  get  a  piece  of  pie, 

Or  bread,  or  even  cake, 
That's  equal  to  the  very  best 

That  mother  used  to  bake. 
And  mother  was   a  famous   cook 

Known  all  the  country  through 
For  putting  up  the  best  of  meals 

That  hungry  children  knew. 

I  used  to  think  that  modern  cooks 

Had  lost  the  noble  art, 
But  after  long  reflection  I 

Espouse  their  cause  and  part. 
So  when  some  grouchy  man  complains 

And  calls  their  art  in  question, 
I  know  just  what  the  matter  is — 

It's  simply  indigestion. 


GRIEF   IN   BOYVILLE 

[James  A.  Bailey,  the  famous  circus  man,  died  at  his 
home  in  Mount  Vernon,  N.  Y.,  on  April  11.] 


What  boots  it  now  if  empires  fall 

And  kingdoms  all  decay? 
What  matters  now  if  famine's  pall 

Leaves  sorrow  in  its  way? 
For  greater  griefs  than  these  can  bring 

O'er  boyhood  now  is  spread, 
For  James  A.  Bailey,  circus  king, 

Lies  silent,  cold  and  dead. 


KIDDIES     SIX  71 

Let  kings  their  gambling  games  pursue 

"With  human  lives  for  stakes; 
Let  war's  alarms  ring  through  the  blue 

Until  the   whole  world  quakes. 
Tis  not  of  these  the  small  boy  reads 

With  bowed  and  sorry  head; 
He  notes  with  heart  that  sorely  bleeds 

That  James  A.  Bailey's  dead. 

Let  drums  be  heard  with  muffled  beat, 

Let  dirges  fill  the  air; 
Let  funeral  trappings  fill  the  street, 

Flags  half-mast  everywhere, 
The  streets  of  Boyville  reek  with  woe 

As  forth  with  sorry  tread 
The  little  folk  in  silence  go — 

For  James  A.  Bailey's  dead. 

No  king  in  panoplied  array 

With  armies  at  his  call 
Could  cause  a  greater  woe  today 

If  he  down  dead  should  fall. 
A  moment  would  the  old  world  pause, 

Then  would  he  be  forgot. 
But  Bailey's  name  will  win  applause 

While  there's  a  circus  lot. 

The  streets  of  Boyville  reek  with  woe, 

And  mournful  trappings  fly; 
In  silence  down  the  street  boys  go 

While  tears  bedim  each  eye. 
No  king  who  ruled  in  pompous  power 

With  gold  crown  on  his  head 
Was  ever  mourned  a  single  hour 

Like  James  A.  Bailey,  dead. 


72  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  LIGHTS  0'  HOME 

When  the  shades  of  evening  gather,  and  the  disappear- 
ing sun 

Marks  the  close  of  day's  endeavor,  and  the  weary  tasks 
are  done; 

"When  the  stars  begin  to  twinkle  in  the  arch  of  heaven's 
dome, 

I  am  longing  for  the  welcome  of  the  shining  lights  o' 
home. 

Through    the    little    cottage    window    with    a    radiance 

divine, 
And  a  welcome  in  their  gleaming,  I  can  see  the  bright 

beams  shine. 
Far  adown  the  street  they  greet  me,  and  they  beckon 

me  to  haste 
To  the  home  where  love  awaits  me,  where  love's  hand 

the  light  has  placed. 

0,  the  lights  o '  home !   Their  gleaming,  shining  down  the 

street  afar, 
Bids  me  hasten  to  the  greeting  waiting  where  my  loved 

ones  are; 
And  the  toil  of  day  forgotten  in  the  welcomes  that  will 

greet 
Makes  the  homeward  journey  easy  for  my  tired,  halting 

feet. 

Childish  feet  make  merry  music  as  they  patter  o'er  the 

floor; 
Happy  voices  wake  the  echoes  as  my  children  ope  the 

door; 
And  their  ringing,  happy  laughter  bids  the  cares  of  day 

depart, 
"While  the  joy  of  life  and  living  takes  possession  of  the 

heart. 


KIDDIES     SIX  73 

Lights  o'  home!    Their  mellow  gleaming  marks  the  way 

from  care  and  strife; 
Brighten  ev'ry  nook  and  corner,  give  a  zest  of  love  and 

life; 
And  each  ev'ning,  with  my  loved  ones,  hand  in  hand  we 

gaily  roam 
Through  the  fairy  lands  outlying,  bathed  in  gleaming 

lights  o'  home. 


STATISTICAL 

One,    two,    three,   four,   five — 

Mighty  glad  that  I'm  alive. 

Six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten — 

July  Fourth  has  gone  again, 

And  my  fingers  are  all  here 

Ready  for  another  year. 

One,  two — to  my  surprise, 

I  have  still  a  pair  of  eyes. 

And  I'm  happy  to  declare 

I've  my  usual  stock  of  hair. 

True,  I've  blisters  by  the  score 

But  the  wonder  is  that  more 

Do  not  on  my  form  appear — 

I'll  do  better,  come  next  year. 

One,  two — yes,  both  ears  on, 

Thought  once  one  of  them  was  gone. 

True,  one's  frazzled  pretty  bad, 

But  it's  on,  and  I  am  glad. 

All  my  teeth  and  all  my  toes 

Still  here,  but  I  ruined  my  clothes. 

But  it  was  a  glorious  day. 

Spent  in  quite  the  same  old  way. 


74  KIDDIES     SIX 

"HELLO,  NEIGHBOR!" 

When  you  weary  of  the  journey  as  around  the  world  you 

roam, 
"When  you  near  the  place  you  love  best — catch  a  glimpse 

of  home,  sweet  home — 

You  forget  the  joys  of  travel  in  the  joy  so  full  and  free 
That  you  feel  in  once  more  standing   'neath  your  own 

loved  home  roof-tree. 
And  your  heart  is  full  to  bursting  with  the  thankfulness 

you  feel 
As  before  the  Throne  of  Mercy  in  your  quiet  home  you 

kneel. 
Then  you  know  that  life  no  pleasure  has  for  you  a  single 

lack 

When  your  friends  come    'round  you  saying: 
"Hello,  neighbor;  glad  you're  back!" 

When  you  look  in  friendly  faces,  feel  the  grasp  of  hands 
of  friends; 

When  all  thoughts  of  creed  and  party  into  honest  friend- 
ship blends; 

When  you  see  around  about  you  those  who  know  you  day 
by  day 

And  can  hear  their  cheery  greeting  as  you  pass  along 
the  way — 

Then  you  know  that  life's  worth  living  and  that  sweet- 
est pleasure  ends 

When  your  ears  can  hear  no  longer  hearty  greeting 
from  your  friends. 

And  your  heart  is  full  to  bursting,  and  the  tears  un- 
bidden come 

As  you  hear  their  kindly  greeting: 

"Hello,  neighbor;  welcome  home!" 


KIDDIES     SIX  75 

When  at  last  the  final  summons  sounding  from  the  other 
shore 

Tell  that  earthly  toil  is  over  and  for  me  time  is  no  more; 

When  across  the  old  home  threshold  for  the  last  time  I 
shall  go 

And  the  dirges  sound  above  me  in  their  measures  soft  and 
low; 

When  my  eyes  have  closed  forever  on  the  earthly  forms 
of  friends, 

And  life's  journey  with  its  trials  and  its  joy  and  pleasure 
ends, 

May  I  wake  to  hear  the  music  ringing  'round  the  heav- 
enly dome 

As  old  friends  shall  meet  me  saying: 

"Hello,  neighbor;  welcome  home!" 


THE  OLD  SONGS 

Sweet  songs  of  old !    How  memory  brings 

Their  music  back  to  me 
Until  each  bell  of  heaven  rings 

Salvation  full  and  free ! 
"Joy  to  the  world,"  the  music  sweet 

Has  filled  a  million  souls, 
And  marked  the  time  for  marching  feet 

To  where  old  Jordan  rolls. 

"I  need  Thee  ev'ry  hour,"  for  I 

Oft  weary  by  the  way; 
And  "while  the  years  are  rolling  by" 

Thou  art  my  guide  and  stay. 
"Abide  with  me"  through  calm  and  stress, 

Protect  me  by  Thy  might; 
My  weak  and  fait 'ring  footsteps  bless 

With  Thine  own  "Kindly  Light." 


76  KIDDIES    SIX 

The  dear  old  songs!    Their  echoes  fill 

The  quiet  evening  air; 
They  bid  me  bear  life's  load  until 

"There'll  be  no  sorrow  there." 
"By  cool  Siloam's  shady  rill" 

Whose  waters  floweth  free, 
Lead  me  each  day  and  night  until 

"Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee." 

And  when  "on  Jordan's  stormy  banks' 

My  feet  shall  stand  at  last ; 
"When  I  shall  see  the  ransomed  ranks 

From  whom  all  care  is  cast, 
"0  there  may  I,  though  vile  as  he" 

Christ  did  that  day  behold, 
The  city's  walls  of  jasper  see 

And  walk  its  streets  of  gold. 


WHAT'S    THE    USE? 

What's  the  use  of  running  when  there's  time  enough 

to  walk? 

It  is  hurry  that  brings  silver  to  your  hair. 
What's  the  use  of  sighing  when  there's  time  for  cheer- 
ful talk? 

It  is  worry  that  brings  on  the  lines  of  care. 
What's  the   use   of  weeping   over  milk   that   has   been 

spilled  ? 

Other  cows  are  feeding  in  the  pasture  lot. 
What's  the  use  of  groaning  when  the  world  with  joy  is 

filled? 
You  are  better  off  with  many  things  forgot. 

What's  the  use  of  grumbling  as  you  tote  your  heavy 
load? 


KIDDIES     SIX  77 

Loud  complaining  never  made  a  burden  light. 
What's  the  use  of  growling  at  the  roughness  of  the  road? 

It  brings  on  no  better  rest  when  cometh  night. 
What's  the  use  of  mourning  o'er  mistakes  of  other  days? 

Time  so  spent  is  but  another  big  mistake. 
What's  the  use  of  shutting  out  life's  beauties  from  your 
gaze? 

Look,  and  get  the  joy  of  flowers  in  your  wake. 

What's  the  use  of  striving  for  the  things  not  worth  your 

while  ? 

Sodom's  apples  turn  to  ashes  on  your  lips. 
What's  the  use  of  frowning  when  you  have  a  chance 

to  smile? 

Joy  is  always  within  reach  of  fingertips. 
What's  the  use  bewailing  that  you  have  no  chance  to 

shine  ? 

There  are  duties  lying  'round  on  ev'ry  hand. 
And  the  man  who  does  his  duty  near  approaches  the 

divine, 
In  good  time  the  world  will  see — and  understand. 


THE    ROAD    TO    YESTERDAY 

Down  the  long,  broad  road  as  it  leads  away 

To  the  pleasant  scenes  of  a  yesterday — 

To  the  orchard  wide  where  the  laden  trees 

Swing  to  and  fro  in  the  balmy  breeze ; 

By  the  old  well-sweep  with  its  creaking  pole 

And  the  big  white  rock  by  the  swimming  hole — 

Ah,  the  scent  that  comes  from  the  new  mown  hay 

Whose  long  drifts  lay 

Where  the  sunbeams  play 
On  the  long,  wide  road  to  yesterday ! 


78  KIDDIES     SIX 

The  milestones  stand  with  their  tinge  of  gray 
As  the  mind  harks  back  to  a  yesterday. 
And  the  road  grows  smooth  as  the  eyes  behold 
The  long  lost  scenes  of  the  days  of  old — 
Faces  bright  of  the  old  school  crowd 
Long  since  wrapped  in  the  sheet  and  shroud  ; 
Welcome  shouts  from  the  chums  so  gay 

Who  romp  and  play 

In  the  old-time  way 
By  the  long,  wide  road  to  yesterday! 

The  evening  lamp  through  the  window  shines, 
And  we  see  once  more  the  stumbling  lines 
Of  the  old  textbooks,  and  each  puzzling  rule 
That  caused  us  grief  in  the  hours  of  school. 
And  a  sweet  old  face   'gainst  the  windowpane 
Looks  down  the  reach  of  the  shady  lane ; 
And  the  welcome  gleams  in  her  bright  eyes  play 

As  on  we  stray 

Through  the  evening  gray 
Down  the  old,  old  road  to  yesterday ! 

Down  the  long,  wide  road  as  it  leads  away 
To  the  old-time  scenes  of  that  yesterday 
When  the  heart  was  light  as  the  thistle's  down, 
And  we  little  knew  of  the  hard  world 's  frown ; 
Where  the  friends  we  knew  were  the  girls  and  boys 
To  divide  our  woes  and  to  share  our  joys — 
Where  life  was  sweet  and  the  hours  were  gay 

With  love  and  play 

In  our  childhood  way 
At  the  end  of  the  road  to  yesterday ! 


KIDDIES     SIX  79 

THE  ONE  WHO  WAS  NOT  THERE 

Around  the  full  Thanksgiving  feast 

We  gathered  yesterday. 
From  north  and  south,  from  west  and  east, 

Once  more  we  found  our  way. 
Though  hearts  were  full  of  joy  and  cheer 

We  saw  one  vacant  chair; 
And  we  recalled  through  smile  and  tear 

The  one  who  was  not  there. 

We  bowed  our  heads  in  heartfelt  thanks 

For  life  and  home  and  love ; 
Though  God  had  broken  family  ranks 

And  called  one  home  above. 
We  sat  around  the  family  board 

And  breathed  a  silent  prayer 
That  in  God's  time  would  be  restored 

The  one  who  was  not  there. 

We  decked  with  flowers  the  old-time  place — 

With  roses  red  and  white — 
They  called  to  mind  her  dear  old  face 

And  eyes  with  love  alight. 
Their  incense  filled  the  little  hall 

With  perfume  rich  and  rare ; 
And  every  rose  served  to  recall 

The  one  who  was  not  there. 

We  stood  at  mention  of  her  name, 

And  every  head  was  bowed; 
Into  our  eyes  the  teardrops  came, 

And  fast  did  memories  crowd. 
A  shrine  of  love  we  built  that  day 

About  that  vacant  chair; 
And  each  did  loving  homage  pay 

To  one  who  was  not  there. 


80  KIDDIES    SIX 

OL'  MAN  ARMSTEAD'S  VIOLIN 

It  ain't  no  use  t'  talk  t'  me 

'Bout  Paderewsky  an'  his  class, 
F  'r  when  it  comes  t '  classic  art 

I  got  t'  let  it  by  me  pass. 
My  ears  wa'nt  trained  f '  r  them  fugees 

That  make  up  such  an  awful  din; 
But  I  kin  listen  by  th'  hour 

T'  01'  Man  Armstead's  violin. 

Once't  on  a  time  I  went  t'  hear 

TV  famous  Thomas  orkestray. 
Th'  players  only  sawed  an'  bio  wed, 

But  nary  tune  I  heard   'em  play. 
Good  music?    Well,  perhaps  it  wuz 

T'  them  that  like  them  screechy  things; 
But  give  me  music  as  it  comes 

From  01'  Man  Armstead's  fiddle  strings. 

Sonatys  an'  great  symphonees 

May  suit  th'  eddicated  taste; 
But  on  such  yowling  as  that  is 

I  haven 't  got  no  time  t '  waste. 
The  music  that  I  love  th'  best 

Is  them  ol'  tunes  that's  locked  within 
Th'  strings  stretched  tight  across  th'  bridge 

Of  Ol'  Man  Armstead's  violin. 

An '  when  my  life  o '  toil  is  done 

An'  I  am  summoned  up  on  high, 
I  want  some  music  soft  an'  sweet 

T'  bear  me  upward  t'  th'  sky. 
I  want,  when  Peter  swings  th'  gate 

T'  let  this  weary  toiler  in, 
T'  be  a  keepin'  joyful  step 

T'  01'  Man  Armstead's  violin. 


KIDDIES     SIX  81 

AT   THE  BALL   GAME 

With  Dorothy,  on  pleasure  bent, 

I  to  the  ball  game  took  my  way; 
My  mind  upon  the  game  intent — 

And  Dorothy,  so  blithe  and  gay. 
Up  in  the  grandstand,  side  by  side, 

With  score  card  ready  for  the  game, 
We  watched  the  players  leap  and  glide, 

And  learned  to  call  each  one  by  name. 

"Play  ball!"  the  umpire  shrieked.    And  then 

I  strove  to  teach  the  lass  each  play. 
"Now  that's  a  'strike,'  "  I  said,  "and  when 

He  strikes  three  times — for  him  'good  day.'  ' 
"0,  yes,"  the  dainty  lass  replied, 

While  glancing  'round  from  where  she  sat, 
"He  strikes  three  times.    0,  Will,"  she  cried, 

"Just  look  at  that  girl's  frightful  hat!" 

"And  that's  a  'ball,'  "  I  next  explained, 

"And  four  will  give  the  man  a  base." 
She  thanked  me  for  the  knowledge  gained, 

A  witching  smile  upon  her  face. 
"But  pray,"  she  asked,  "what  will  he  do 

With  that  big  sack  you  say  is  first?" 
I  don't  see  what — 0,  Will,  did  you 

See  that  girl's  dress?    It's  sure  the  worst!" 

"  'Kah,  that's  a  'hit!'  "    I  shrieked  with  glee. 

"Now  beat  it  out!    Yah,  that's  the  stuff!" 
"0,  how,"  asked  Dorothy  of  me, 

"Can  you  use  language  that's  so  rough?" 
"Why,  'twas  a  'hit;'  a  beauty,  too," 

I  said  with  something  of  restraint. 
"Quite  so,"  she  said.    "0,  look,  Will;  do! 

How  can  a  woman  use  such  paint?" 


82  KIDDIES     SIX 

' '  Slide !  Slide !  you  dub ! "  I  yelled  with  rage. 

"0,  rats;  you  run  just  like  a  hearse. 
Of  course  you  're  out — back  to  your  cage ! ' ' 

That  much  aloud — aside,  much  worse. 
"Why,  he's  not  out;  I  see  him  still," 

Quoth  Dorothy  in  great  surprise. 
"He's  only — goodness  gracious,  Will; 

That  loud-dressed  woman  squints  her  eyes!" 

"We've  got  their  pitcher  in  a  hole!" 

I  yelled,  and  loudly  stamped  my  feet. 
"Why,  Will;  he's  standing  on  that  knoll," 

Said  Dorothy  in  accents  sweet. 
"I  mean,"  said  I  in  sheer  despair, 

"W've  got  him  o'er  a  barrel,  dear." 
"A  barrel?    I— 0,  Will;  her  hair 

Is  blondined  sure ;  it  shows  from  here ! ' ' 

Back  from  the  game  we  took  our  way, 

And  Dorothy  was  full  of  glee. 
"O,  I  could  watch  them  every  day," 

She  said,  and  coyly  glanced  at  me. 
"The  game  was  great — won  3  to  2," 

Said  I,  "  'Twas  won  by  bully  ball." 
"0,  yes;  but,  Will,  why  do  they  do 

Such  yelling,  dear?"    And  that  was  all. 


TO    "HER" 

Through  all  life's  ever-changing  ways 
Thou  are  the  same,  0,  Heart  o '  Mine ! 

Come  good,  come  ill,  the  passing  days 
Are  bright  from  thee,  my  Valentine. 


KIDDIES     SIX  83 

MOTHER'S  WORK 

Mother  hasn't  much  to  do 

To  keep  from  growing  lonely; 
Simply  lives  the  long  day  through 

At  little  duties  only. 
Gets  the  breakfast  just  for  eight, 

While  for  sleep  she  wishes; 
Two  for  school  must  not  be  late — 

Then  she  does  the  dishes. 

Then  she  sweeps  the  sitting  room, 

Dining  room  and  stairway; 
Wields  a  dustrag  and  a  broom 

Till  things  shine  in  fair  way, 
Then  she  has  to  dress  the  three. 

Small  kids  who've  been  sleeping — 
"Dick"  and  Charlotte,  Marjorie — 

Then  more  dusting,  sweeping. 

Then  she  combs  three  tousled  heads 

And  washes  three  bright  faces; 
Makes  a  half  dozen  beds; 

Puts  things  in  their  places. 
Then  the  lunch  for  those  from  school ; 

Then  the  chores  forgotten; 
Then  her  needle  and  a  spool 

Of  stout  darning  cotton. 

Dinner  dishes  washed  and  dried, 

Then  the  porches  mopping ; 
Several  patches  well  applied, 

Then  a  bit  of  shopping. 
Hungry  eight  to  feed  at  night — 

That's  the  regular  number — 
Coffee,  sausage,  biscuits  light — 

Then  the  "kids"  to  slumber. 


84  KIDDIES     SIX 

Then,  the  supper  dishes  done, 

Her  easy  day  is  ended, 
Save  she  sees  that  one  by  one 

All  clothes  are  mended. 
Sews  the  missing  buttons  back, 

Mends  the  little  dresses; 
Wipes  out  every  muddy  track 

That  her  sight  distresses. 

Gets  the  kitchen  all  "O.K." 

For  the  early  morning; 
Winds  the  clock  so  it  will  say 

Loud  its  early  warning. 
Then,  if  nothing  else  to  do, 

Upstairs  she'll  go  creeping 
Just  to  waste  an  hour  or  two 

In  not  needed  sleeping. 

Mother  hasn't  much  to  do — 

That's  how  people  view  it — 
Little  work  the  whole  day  through, 

Eighteen  hours  to  do  it. 
But  pa — he  has  to  work  like  sin 

In  his  important  station; 
Eight  hours — then  he  is  all  in, 

And  tired  as  creation! 


THE  OLD   SONGS 

When  day  is  done,  and  o'er  the  world  the  gentle  twilight 

drops ; 
When  rush  and  roar  have  died  away  and  busy  traffic 

stops ; 
When  spicy  breezes  borne  by  June  from  Araby  the  blest ; 


KIDDIES     SIX  85 

When  "not  a  wave  of  trouble  rolls  across  my  peaceful 

breast ' ' — 
I  love  to  sit  at  ease  and  hear  some  sweet-voiced  singer 

sing 
The  good  old  Zion  songs  of  yore,  which  fondest  memories 

bring. 
"Since  I  can  read  my  title  clear" — the  tears  come  to  my 

eye, 
But  through  the  mists  I  seem  to  see  those  mansions  in 

the  sky. 

When  evening  shadows  cool  and  deep  have  fallen  o'er 

the  world, 
I  have  forgot  the  cares  of  day  when  "fiery  darts  were 

hurled." 
And  sitting  in  my  old  arm  chair  beneath  the  rustling 

trees 

It  seems  that  I  am  borne  away  on  "flowery  beds  of  ease." 
A  clear  voice  sings  the  good  old  songs,  and  in  my  thoughts 

I  stand 
"On  Jordan's  stormy  banks,"  and  gaze  on  far-off  "Beu- 

lah  Land." 

Fond  memories  of  other  days  the  old  songs  bring  to  me, 
When  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep"  I  lisped  at  mother's 

knee. 

When  purpling  shadows  limn  the  west  with  gold   and 

silver  sheen, 
"Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood  stand  dressed  in 

living  green." 

The  echoing  music  of  the  songs  rings  out  upon  the  air 
The  happy  promise  writ  of  old,  "There'll  be  no  sorrow 

there." 

All  troubles  flee  as  flee  the  days,  and  with  a  restful  sigh 
I  gaze  "O'er  Canaan's  happy  land  where  my  possessions 

lie." 


86  KIDDIES     SIX 

Old  days,  old  friends,  come  trooping  back  from  out  the 

shadowy  past 
As   o'er  my   soul   those   dear   old   songs   their   web    of 

memory  cast. 

Those  good  old  songs,  those  dear  old  songs!     When  I 

am  called  to  go 

I  want  to  hear  their  melodies  in  measures  soft  and  low; 
''Just  as  I  am  without  one  plea,"  I'll  lay  me  down  to 

sleep, 
For  "Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul,"  will  still  His  watch  care 

keep. 
And  when  I  wake   to   endless   day   on  yonder   shining 

shore, 

I  want  to  hear  those  grand  old  songs  of  Zion  evermore. 
Those  grand  old  songs  our  mothers  sang!    0,  sing  them 

o'er  to  me, 
Until  in  that  "Sweet  Bye  and  Bye"  the  jasper  walls  I 

see. 


A  WAIL  FROM  A  WORKINGMAN 

I  have  vainly  searched  the  papers   and  the  household 

magazines 

For  a  recipe  for  dinner  that  will  come  within  my  means ; 
For  a  dinner,  good,  substantial,  that  will  put  fat  on  my 

frame 
And  not  cause  financial  panic  in  the  purchase  of  the 

same. 

But  to  date  I'm  unsuccessful,  for  the  menus  that  I  see 
Are  too  delicate  and  dainty  for  a  workingman  like  me. 
Magazines  there  are  a  plenty  for  the  rich  who  dine  in 

state, 
But  I'm  looking  for  a  dinner  that  a  dollar  buys  for  eight. 


KIDDIES     SIX  87 

If  I  had  a  million  dollars  it  would  he  an  easy  thing 

To  support  six  hungry  children  who  are  always  on  the 
wing, 

But  I'm  making  modest  wages  and  I'm  paying  lots  of 
rent, 

And  I've  got  to  cut  the  corners  and  make  good  with  ev'ry 
cent. 

So  it  makes  me  mad  to  read  'em — menus  in  the  maga- 
zines, 

With  their  croquettes  and  their  sauces — let  'em  talk  of 
pork  and  beans ! 

"Dainty  luncheons  for  three  dollars!"  I  can't  live  at 
such  a  rate — 

I  am  looking  for  a  dinner  than  a  dollar  buys  for  eight. 

"Consomme  and  then  some  olives,  then  some  mushrooms 

served  on  toast ; 

Chicken  fried,  pimenta  salad,  Saratoga  chips  and  roast; 
Then  some  crackers  and  some  coffee  and  a  dainty  bit  of 

cheese — 
This,"  my  magazine  informs  me,  "is  a  luncheon  sure  to 

please. ' ' 
Bless  your  soul,  that  wouldn't  start  us  on  the  road  from 

Hungry  ville, 

For  it  takes  substantial  victuals  and  a  lot  of  them  to  fill 
Me  and  those  depending  on  me,  and  I'm  looking  early, 

late, 
For  a  good  substantial  dinner  that  a  dollar  buys  for  eight. 

If  Carnegie  wants  to  help  us  let  him  start  some  magazines 
That  will  give  some  information  to  the  men  of  meagre 

means 
On  the  subject  of  providing  three  square  meals  within  the 

pay 
Of  a  man  who 's  mighty  lucky  if  he  makes  three  plunks  a 

day, 


88  KIDDIES     SIX 

And  has  got  a  growing  family  that  depends  on  him  alone 
To  keep  wolves  from  howling  near  them  in  a  dismal  sort 

of  tone. 
Let  him  start  one  that  will  tell  us  how  to  dine  in  family 

state 
On  a  good  substantial  dinner  that  a  dollar  buys  for  eight. 


MY  WANTS 

I  do  not  want  a  fortune  great; 
I  do  not  seek  the  cares  of  state, 
With  all  their  glitter  and  their  glare, 
And  wicked  schemes  afloat  in  air. 
I  do  not  yearn  for  power  or  place; 
Nor  would  I  take  part  in  the  race 
For  gold — I  only  ask  that  I 
May  sow  good  will  while  passing  by ; 
And  that  when  I  am  laid  below 
The  cool,  green  sod,  where  daisies  blow, 
Some  one  will  pause  a  bit,  and  then 
Declare :    "He  helped  his  f ellowmen. ' ' 

I  do  not  covet  mansions  grand, 
Nor  acres  broad  on  every  hand ; 
I  do  not  yearn  for  jewels  bright, 
To  dazzle  my  poor  neighbor 's  sight ; 
I  do  not  yearn  to  take  command, 
And  order  men  on  every  hand — 
I  only  ask  that  I  may  go 
Along  a  road  where  flowers  blow, 
And  dying,  have  men  pause  and  say: 
"He  scattered  sunshine  all  the  way." 


KIDDIES     SIX  89 

Let  others  dig  and  delve  for  gold; 
Let  others  place  of  power  hold; 
Let  others  with  a  lordly  air, 
Stand  forth  within  the  limelight's  glare; 
Let  others  trade  on  hopes  and  fears, 
And  profit  by  the  sobs  and  tears 
Of  those  they  wreck.     I  only  ask 
The  strength  to  do  each  daily  task, 
Then  homeward  go  with  heart  elate 
And  greet  my  loved  ones  at  the  gate ; 
Then,  dying,  have  men  pause  a  while 
And  say:    "He  gave  the  world  a  smile." 


THANKSGIVING 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  through  the  year 

Rich  blessings  have  around  me  spread; 
That  though  some  days  seemed  dark  and  drear 

The  sun  some  gleams  of  splendor  shed. 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  strength  of  arm 

To  toil  for  those  within  my  care; 
For  Thy  great  love  that  saved  from  harm 

And  blessings  gave  in  richest  share. 
For  all  Thy  blessings  on  life's  way 
I  thank  Thee  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  as  one  by  one 

The  days  sped  to  eternity, 
Each  evening's  low  descending  sun 

Left  loved  ones  here  to  welcome  me. 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  when  day's  work  o'er 

And  footsteps  turned  to  home  and  rest, 
That  childish  welcomes  at  the  door 

Made  ev'ry  passing  moment  blest. 
For  all  these  joys  I  gladly  pay 
My  tributes  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 


90  KIDDIES     SIX 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  each  day's  dawn 

Was  ushered  in  with  hope  and  cheer ; 
That  each  day's  sun  could  shine  upon 

Life's  path  devoid  of  thorn  or  tear. 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  soft  caress 

Of  childish  fingers  on  my  face; 
For  love  that  left,  through  storm  and  stress, 

Around  my  board  no  vacant  place. 
For  blessings  spread  about  my  way 
I  praise  Thee  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  all  the  friends 

Whose  cheery  welcomes  make  life  sweet; 
For  love  that  all  my  way  attends, 

And  make  my  happiness  complete. 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  hands  stretched  out 

To  clasp  my  own  in  friendship  warm; 
For  hope  that  puts  to  flight  each  doubt 

And  haven  gives  in  ev'ry  storm. 
For  all  Thy  goodness  on  life's  way 
I  praise  Thee  this  Thanksgiving  Day. 


LIKE  A  BOY  AGAIN 

O,  I  am  growing  anxious,  just  as  anxious  as  a  kid, 
To  see  the  Christmas  presents  that  I  know  are  snugly  hid 
In  closet  or  in  bureau — anywhere  my  eyes  won't  see 
Until  they  hang  in  splendor  on  the  lighted  Christmas  tree. 
I  know  my  children  bought  them  for  they  slyly  nod  and 

smile, 
And  mamma — who's  their  partner — wears  an  air  of  utter 

guile. 
I  know  I  should  know  better  at  my  age,  but  Gee  Whiz! 

when 
The  Christmas  season  strikes  me  I  am  just  a  boy  again. 


KIDDIES     SIX  91 

I  know  it  would  be  proper  at  my  age  if  I'd  decide 
To  court  a  quiet  manner  and  be  grave  and  dignified; 
That  'twould  be  more  in  keeping  with  my  age  and  hair 

of  gray 

If  I  would  look  important  and  put  childish  things  away. 
But  what's  the  use  of  talking?    When  the  kids  begin  to 

sneak 
Around  upon  their  tip-toes,  and  they  scarcely  dare  to 

speak 
Above   a   giggling   whisper — something   strike   me    biff! 

and  then 
I  know  it's  nigh  to  Christmas  and  I'm  just  a  boy  again. 

At  close  of  day  I  hasten  toward  the  light  that  shines  for 

me; 
I  want  to  hear  the  music  when  my  children  laugh  with 

glee; 
I  want  to  see  them  scatter  as  they  haste  to  hide  their 

things 
That  I'm  not  supposed  to  look  at  till  old  Santa  kindly 

brings. 

I  want  to  be  a  sharer  in  the  old-time  Christmas  joys 
That  have  made  the  old  world  brighter  to  uncounted  girls 

and  boys. 
And  that's  why  I  can't  be  stately  or  austere,  like  many 

men, 
For  I  get  chock  full  of  Christmas  and  become  a  boy  again. 


MEMORY 

There's  a  mem'ry  comes  stealing  o'er  my  mind  when 

shadows  fall 

As  the  sun  sinks  slowly  down  the  purple  west, 
And  my  little  ones  are  nodding  at  the  sandman's  evening 

call 


92  KIDDIES    SIX 

For  the  end  of  the  play  and  hurry  off  to  rest. 
In  that  memory  comes  clearly,  from  the  years  long  gone 

before, 
One  sweet  voice  that  makes  the  dead  years  backward 

creep, 
In  a  song  my  mother  sang  us  in  the  vanished  days  of 

yore 
When  she  gently  crooned  her  little  ones  to  sleep. 

"How  firm  a  foundation!" — she  had  laid  them  deep  and 
strong 

With  a  faith  that  never  knew  a  doubt  or  fear. 
"In  every  condition" — still  she  voiced  her  faith  in  song, 

Saw  her  heavenly  mansions  with  a  vision  clear. 
In  my  memory  I  still  hear  her,  rocking  gently  to  and  fro 

As  the  twilight  darkened  in  the  western  deep ; 
Singing  that  old  song  of  Zion,  with  her  eyes  of  faith 
aglow, 

As  she  gently  crooned  her  little  ones  to  sleep. 

"Fear  not,  I  am  with  you!" — and  she  smiled  at  every  foe 

That  assailed  her  simple  trust  in  Calvary. 
"I'll  strengthen  you,  help  you!" — she  still  sang  it  soft 

and  low 

As  she  rocked  her  little  ones  upon  her  knee. 
I  can  hear  her  sweet  voice  singing  down  the  vista  of  the 

years, 

Voicing  faith  that  led  o'er  vale  and  mountain  steep, 
And  I  sing  to  my  own  children  in  a  voice  oft  choked 

with  tears 
That  same  song  she  sang  in  crooning  us  to  sleep. 

"  E  'en  down  to  old  age ! ' ' — yet  whatever  might  betide 
Well  she  knew  her  feet  would  never  go  astray, 

For  the  One  in  whom  she  trusted  walked  forever  by  her 

side, 
Shielded  with  her  tender  love  both  night  and  day. 


KIDDIES     SIX  93 

And  when  the  final  summons  bid  her  enter  joys  divine 
Quick  she  answered  with  a  faith  I  fain  would  keep ; 

For  the  hand  that  gently  led  her  I  would  ever  hold  in 

mine 
Till  I  hear  her  sweet  voice  crooning  me  to  sleep. 


AN   ANNIVERSARY 

Hand  clasped  in  hand  down  this  life 's  winding  pathways, 

On  through  the  flowers  and  frosts  of  the  years; 
Side  by  side,  forward  through  sunshine  and  dark  days, 

Comrades  we  two  in  the  joy  time  and  tears. 
Ever  and  on  where  the  future  shall  lead  us, 

Facing  with  hope  ev'ry  day  as  it  breaks; 
Praying  for  strength  when  our  loved  ones  shall  need  us, 

Trusting  in  One  whose  love  never  forsakes. 

Little  hands  clasping  our  own  as  we  journey 

Upward  and  onward  o  'er  mountain  and  plain ; 
Giving  us  courage  to  enter  life 's  tourney, 

Fighting  and  striving  again  and  again. 
Children's  glad  voices  that  make  music  dearer, 

Than  ever  was  heard  from  the  sweetest  harp  strings; 
Baby  smiles  bringing  the  angel  hosts  nearer 

Until  we  can  hear  the  soft  beat  of  their  wings. 

Bright  lights  agleam  when  the  darkness  is  falling. 

Pointing  the  pathway  to  home  and  its  rest; 
Childish  eyes  bright,  and  the  sweet  voices  calling, 

Calling  me  safe  to  the  cottage  home  nest. 
Heart  o'  my  heart,  as  the  years  swiftly  gliding 

Add  to  our  storehouse  of  roses  or  rue, 
Still,  with  a  love  and  a  trust  both  abiding, 

Journey  we  on  with  our  hearts  beating  true. 


94  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  TRUANT 

I  want  to  get  out  in  the  open, 

Out  with  the  birds  and  the  trees; 
Through  cool,  shady  nooks,  by  babbling  brooks, 

Out  in  the  spring's  balmy  breeze. 
I  want  to  play  truant  and  wander 

Away  from  my  office  and  books ; 
'Neath  blue  of  the  sky  and  sun  shining  high, 

Through  thicket  and  flower-laden  nooks. 

I  want  to  forget  care  and  worry, 

The  heat  of  the  world's  busy  fray; 
Away  from  the  mart  and  back  to  the  heart 

Of  nature,  if  but  for  a  day. 
I  want  to  just  loll  and  lazy 

With  never  a  doubt  nor  a  care ; 
A  boy  once  again,  o'er  moorland  and  fen, 

As  free  and  as  wild  as  the  air. 

I'm  weary  of  straining  and  striving 

Amidst  all  the  money-mad  throng; 
Of  sham  and  of  show,  of  want  and  of  woe, 

Of  all  the  grim  cohorts  of  wrong. 
I  want  to  get  out  in  the  open, 

Away  from  the  grim  market  place; 
A  day  of  release,  of  joy  and  of  peace, 

Afar  from  the  world's  frenzied  race. 

I  'm  going — there 's  nothing  can  stop  me ! 

I'm  master  of  self  for  a  day. 
Each  duty  I'll  shirk — tomorrow  I'll  work, 

Today  have  I  chosen  to  play. 
In  vain  will  they  seek  who  are  looking 

For  me  at  my  daily  employ; 
I'm  off  for  the  day,  I'm  out  and  away, 

As  free  as  a  barefooted  boy. 


KIDDIES     SIX  95 

WRITIN'  RHYMES 

I  ain't  claimin'  no  poet  style, 
But  jus'  keep  writin',  an'  maybe  I'll 
Grind  out  somethin'  after  while 
That'll  bring  t'  quiverin'  lips  a  smile — 
An'  I'm  content  if  that  helps  some 
To  keep  a-goin'  when  troubles  come. 
Sometimes  what  I  write  don't  quite  rhyme, 
An'  poetic  feet  don't  keep  good  time; 
An'  as  f 'r  grammar,  well,  maybe  I'm 
Kindo  weak,  an'  th'  errors  climb, 
But  I  don't  keer;  I  do  my  best 
An'  keep  on  writin'  with  added  zest. 

Don't  take  no  flights  o'  fancy  high, 

F'r  soarin'  ain't  my  mission.     I 

Jus'  sit  down  t'  my  desk  an'  try 

T'  make  smiles  chase  away  th'  sigh, 
Write  common  stuff  f 'r  common  folks 
Whose  tired  necks  wear  weary  yokes. 

Can't  write  no  high  toned  poetry; 

Jus'  write  o'  th'  common  things  I  see — 

O'  chil'run  climbin'  upon  my  knee, 

An'  humble  cots  where  th'  home  ties  be — 
Jus'  haltin'  rhymes  o'  th'  common  things, 
An'  grind  em'  out  f 'r  th'  joy  it  brings. 

Jus'  common  stuff,  that  I'll  admit, 
But  if  th'  writin'  will  help  a  bit 
T'  bid  good  cheer  come  in  an'  sit 
Right  down,  I'm  just  a-thinkin'  it 

Won't  be  no  waste  of  a  feller's  time, 

An'  that  is  th'  very  reason  I'm 
A  goin'  to  keep  on  day  by  day 
Writin'  stuff  in  my  poor,  weak  way; 


96  KIDDIES     SIX 

An'  if  th'  writin'  will  make  smiles  play 
On  one  sad  face,  then  all  I'll  say 
Is,  I'm  content;  f'r  one  who  tries 
Don't  care  f'r  them  that  criticise. 

Sing  o'  th'  common  things  o'  life; 
Laughin'  chil'run,  o'  home  an'  wife; 
P'rgettin'  awhile  th'  cares  an'  strife 
With  which  this  bustlin'  world  is  rife. 
Sing  in  a  style  that  some  may  say 
Is  rough  an'  homely.    But  anyway 
Th'  style  suits  me,  an'  I'm  satisfied 
With  jus '  th '  fact  o '  havin '  tried 
T'  scatter  a  few  smiles  fur  an'  wide, 
Or  havin'  a  few  o'  life's  tears  dried. 


AT   FORTY 

On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  but  the  sun  is  sailing  high, 
And  the  path  is  gently  winding  where  the  sweetest  roses 

lie. 

On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  but  amidst  the  golden  glow 
I  .am  walking  with  my  loved   ones  where   the  fairest 

flowers  grow. 
Youth  beside  me  still  is  trudging  down  the  incense  laden 

way, 
And  I  fear  not  coming  shadows  of  an  evening  cold  and 

gray. 
For  with  light  and  love  and  laughter,  why  should  one  be 

full  of  gloom 
On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  with  the  roses  all  in  bloom? 

On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  but  yet  scarcely  past  the  noon ; 
And  the  birds  are  gaily  singing  each  its  merry  woodland 

tune. 
On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  but  my  journey  I  pursue 


KIDDIES     SIX  97 

Full  of  hope  and  cheer  and  pleasure  with  the  old  friends 

tried  and  true. 
Love  is  keeping  step  beside  me,  and  the  sky  o'erhead  is 

clear, 
And  I  take  no  thought  of  twilight  and  a  night  time  dark 

of  dread 
For  while  loved  ones  cling  about  me,  why  should  I  be 

full  of  dread 
On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  with  a  bright  sky  overhead? 

On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  but  my  joys  are  all  increased, 
For  I  live  again  the  hours  when  the  sun  was  in  the  east. 
On  the  shady  side  of  forty,  and  I  live  again  the  joy 
Of  the  mem'ries  gay  and  happy  of  the  days  when  but  a 

boy. 
Visions  sweet  come  trooping  past  me  as  I  walk  along 

the  way, 

And  I  live  a  happy  morning  working  till  the  close  of  day. 
So  with  loved  ones  walking  with  me  while  the  west  is 

all  aglow, 
1  can  pluck  life's  sweetest  flowers  in  the  garden  where 

they  grow. 

On  the  shady  side  of  forty?    Nay,  tis  on  the  sunny  side, 
For  I  see  the  sun  in  splendor  down  the  sky-blue  distance 

glide ; 
While  its  golden  tints  are  painting  on  the  canvas  of  the 

west 
Pictures  of  a  stately  mansion  where  at  last  my  soul  shall 

rest. 

On  the  sunny  side  of  forty !    And  the  pathway  leads  along 
Flowered  banks,  and  rills  that  ripple  in  a  never-ceasing 

song; 
And  I  walk  with  loved  ones  ever  with  a  heart  both  light 

and  gay, 
On  the  sunny  side  of  forty  in  the  brightest  of  the  day. 


98  KIDDIES     SIX 

FORTY-FOUR 

Time  goes  on  a  little  faster,  though  my  steps  are  growing 

slow, 
But  the   sun  still  shines  in  splendor   and  still  sets  in 

golden  glow; 
And  old  friends,  old  times,  old  mem'ries,  grow  still  dearer 

unto  me 

As  I  walk  the  sunset  roadway  leading  to  eternity. 
Home  scenes  grow  a  little  dearer  with  the  close  of  each 

long  day, 
Sweeter  grows  my  children's  laughter  as  I  watch  them 

at  their  play, 
And  I  take  my  ease  at  twilight,  sitting  by  my  cottage 

door, 
Thanking  God  that  life  is  spared  me  and  I'm  young  at 

forty-four. 

Sweeter  grow  the  soft  caresses  as  my  children's  fingers 

twine 
Through  the  silver  threads  that  glisten  in  this  graying 

head  of  mine ; 
Softer,  sweeter  grows  the  music  as  Dame  Nature  sweeps 

the  strings 
Of  the  wind  harps  in  the  forest  till  the  earth  with  rapture 

rings ; 

Softer  grow  the  sunset  colors  as  the  sun  sinks  into  rest 
In  a  couch  of  fleece-clouds  downy  in  the  dim  and  distant 

west; 
And  I  sit  while  twilight  shadows  creep  across  my  cottage 

floor, 
Thanking  God  for  home  and  loved  ones  at  the  age  of 

forty-four. 

Life  is  always  what  you  make  it — you     may  build  for 
*  weal  or  woe. 


99 


Rough  the  road,  or  smooth,  my  brother — it  depends  which 

way  you  go. 
Love  and  laughter  smooth  the  pathway — sighs  and  groans 

will  make  it  rough; 
You  can  see  more  flowers  blooming  if  you'll  just  look  long 

enough. 
And  >as  you  pursue  your  journey,  hand  in  hand  with 

those  you  love, 
You  will  see  the  sun  shine  brightly  though  the  dark  clouds 

hang  above. 
Swift  the  years  go  gliding  by  me,  but  I  heed  their  flight 

no  more — 

I'm  too  thankful  for  my  blessings  at  the  age  of  forty- 
four. 


FORTY-FIVE 

A  few  gray  hairs  and  a  wrinkle  or  two, 

And  a  growing  love  for  an  easy  chair, 
A  longer  search  for  an  easy  shoe, 

And  a  longer  rest  in  the  twilight  fair. 
But  the  sun's  as  bright  and  the  joys  as  keen 

As  in  days  gone  by  when  the  years  were  few, 
And  the  whole  world  grows  with  a  golden  sheen 

While  I  gaze  far  out  on  the  charming  view. 
And  O,  it's  glorious  to  be  alive 
And  feeling  fit  at  forty-five ! 

I  may  not  stand  in  the  highest  place 

And  win  applause  from  admiring  throng. 

I  may  not  win  in  the  world's  mad  race, 
Nor  join  with  pride  in  the  victor's  song, 

But  when  daylight  dies  I  can  haste  away 
From  the  toils  and  cares  that  are  given  me, 

And  spend  the  hours  of  the  closing  day 


100  KIDDIES     SIX 

With  loved  ones  gathered  about  my  knee. 
For  0,  it's  glorious  to  be  alive 
To  scatter  roses  at  forty-five. 

TV  advancing  years  bring  their  recompense 

In  the  ties  of  friendship  stronger  grown; 
In  a  comradeship  growing  more  intense 

As  the  days  unfold  to  the  great  unknown. 
So  I  will  not  mourn  for  the  days  now  dead, 

But  in  today  and  its  joys  take  part — 
What  matters  years  that  have  swiftly  sped 

If  youth  still  lingers  within  the  heart  ? 
Rejoice  with  me — I  am  still  alive 
And  young  of  heart  at  forty-five. 

The  birds  still  sing  and  the  flowers  bloom, 

And  the  children  laugh  in  the  same  old  way; 
The  same  sun  rises  to  banish  gloom, 

The  same  joys  come  with  the  dawning  day. 
So  I'll  not  repine  as  the  time  speeds  fast, 

But  live  today  with  its  joy  and  cheer. 
What  matters  the  days  that  are  dead  and  past? 

Today  with  its  message  of  hope  is  here. 
I'm  doubly  glad  I  am  still  alive 
With  loved  ones  'round  me  at  forty-five. 


FORTY-SEVEN 

Drawing  very  close  to  fifty — how  the  years  go  rolling 

by- 

And  the  sun  of  life  is  blazing  at  its  zenith  in  the  sky. 
Almost  fifty  years  of  living,  skies  of  blue  and  clouds 

of  gray, 

And  my  mem'ry  loves  to  linger  over  every  bygone  day. 
Days  of  boyhood  games  and  laughter,  days  of  rosy  dawn 

of  youth; 


KIDDIES     SIX  101 

Days  of  early  manhood  bringing  wealth  of  roses — and  of 

ruth. 
Ah,  the  long  years  that  have  faded  in  the  dim  and  distant 

past 
Till  I'm  owning  forty-seven;  nearing  fifty  pretty  fast! 

Forty-seven  years  of  living — much  of  joy  and  some  of 

care; 

Little  gold  to  line  my  pockets,  lots  of  silver  in  my  hair. 
Years  of  wandering  wherever  vagrant  fancies  bade  me 

roam, 
But  the  sweetest  years  of  living  are  the  years  of  Home, 

Sweet  Home. 
And  when  evening  shades  are  falling,  as  the  sun  sinks  in 

the  west, 
I  know  well  the  home  years  give  me  all  of  life  that  is 

the  best. 
So  I  sit  beneath  the  home-tree  with  the  ones  I  love  most 

dear, 
Quite   content   at   forty-seven — and   with   fifty   drawing 

near. 

Forty-seven  years  of  living — and  of  loving  on  the  way, 

Looking  through  each  cloud  of  sorrow  on  to  where  the 
sunbeams  play. 

Four  score  years  and  seven — count  them — joys  out- 
number all  the  woes, 

And  I've  quick  forgot  the  thornpricks  in  the  perfume  of 
the  rose. 

Years  of  dreaming  and  of  doing;  years  of  failure  and 
success, 

But,  thank  God,  each  year  made  brighter  by  some  true 
friend's  kind  caress. 

Now  with  life's  sun  at  the  zenith  and  the  shadows  east- 
ward flung, 

I  shall  cease  this  growing  older,  and  just  keep  on  growing 
young. 


102  KIDDIES     SIX 

FIFTEEN  YEARS 

Through  bright  sunshine  and  stormy  weather 
For  fifteen  years  we've  walked  together, 

Sweetheart,  you  and  I. 
Hand  clasped  in  hand  through  all  the  days 
"We've  helped  each  other  on  life's  ways, 

'Neath  clear  or  gloomy  sky. 
And  on  this  day  your  presence  cheers, 
0  sweetheart  of  those  fifteen  years, 
Just  as  it  did  that  autumn  day 
You  started  with  me  on  life's  way. 

Though  time  has  brought  us  much  of  sorrow 
"We've  held  our  faith  in  bright  tomorrow, 

Sweetheart,  you  and  I. 

And  though  deep  grief  has  brought  the  tears 
We  look  back  on  the  vanished  years 

With  more  of  smile  than  sigh. 
And  though  we  both  have  older  grown 
With  years  that  o'er  our  heads  have  flown, 
To  me  you're  still  the  trusting  maid 
That  walked  forth  with  me  unafraid. 

The  fleeting  years  their  cycles  turning 
Have  kept  our  youthful  lovelights  burning, 

Sweetheart,  you  and  I. 
And  now,  dear  one,  wre  backward  gaze 
Upon  those  long  departed  days 

Where  treasured  inem'ries  lie, 
And  heart  to  heart  and  hand  in  hand 
Upon  the  future's  threshold  stand, 
And  with  our  hearts  free  from  all  fears 
We  look  toward  e'en  brighter  years. 

Through  bright  sunshine  or  stormy  weather 
For  fifteen  years  we  've  walked  together, 
Sweetheart,  you  and  I. 


KIDDIES     SIX  103 


And  'round  our  knees  our  children  play 
When  shadows  mark  the  close  of  day, 

And  evening  hours  go  by. 
Dear  one,  as  down  life's  ways  we  pass 
You  e'er  will  be  the  sweet-faced  lass — 
The  little  sweetheart — blythe  and  gay, 
Of  fifteen  years  ago  today. 


DENMAN   THOMPSON 

A  message  comes  from  Swanzy,  Maine, 

That  grief  and  anguish  spread, 
A  message  fraught  with  deepest  pain: 

"01'  Joshua  Whitcomb's  dead." 
Dear  soul,  who  made  us  better  men 

By  many  a  homely  phrase; 
Who  led  us  back  to  youth  again 

Through  old-time  days  and  ways. 

The  kindly  face  and  tender  heart 

Are  cold  in  death  today ; 
The  loving  soul  has  played  its  part 

Within  its  walls  of  clay. 
And  heaven's  gates  are  opened  wide 

While  waits  the  heavenly  crew 
To  raise  a  welcome  shout  inside 

When  01'  Josh  passes  through. 

The  home  folks  down  in  Swanzy,  Maine, 

Are  kinfolks  all  today. 
Their  grief  our  grief,  their  pain  .our  pain, 

When  01'  Josh  passed  away. 
Sleep,  dear  soul,  sleep ;  and  sweet  thy  rest 

As  you  to  others  gave. 
Bloom,  fairest  flowers,  at  your  best 

Above  Josh  Whitcomb  's  grave. 


104  KIDDIES     SIX 

GRANDPA! 

He  sits  beside  the  fireplace  and  dreams  of  days  long  dead, 
The  ruddy  gleams  of  dancing  flames  a  halo  o'er  his  head. 
He  lives  again  the  days  of  youth  when  life  was  young 

and  gay, 

And  Love  twined  roses  in  a  wreath  to  beautify  his  way. 
He  hears  the  rolling  of  the  drums,  the  shrill  fife  piping 

free; 
He  dreams  of  comrades  on  the  march  and  hears  the 

reveille. 
Through  battle-smoke  he  sees  the  flag !    Ah,  stirring  days 

of  yore — 
And  grandpa,  sitting  by  the  fire,  lives  through  the  days 

once  more. 

Ho  hears  the  tumult  die  away,  the  cannon's  roar  is  stilled, 

And  with  the  strains  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  the 
circling  camp  is  filled. 

He  sees  his  mother  at  the  gate — the  welcome  home  lights 
burn — 

He  hears  the  neighbors  shout  with  glee  to  welcome  his 
return. 

Across  the  fields  he  takes  his  way  to  till  the  fertile  soil; 

From  war's  alarms  to  ways  of  peace,  from  camp  to  earn- 
est toil. 

He  sees  the  changing  seasons  .come,  the  peaceful  har- 
vest's store — 

And  grandpa,  sitting  by  the  fire,  lives  through  the  days 
once  more. 

Once  more  adown  the  shady  lane  he  walks  Dan  Cupid's 

way, 
A  maiden's  hand  clasped  in  his  own  as  dies  the  light  of 

day. 
He  sees  beyond  the  ruddy  glow  of  fire-place  so  wide 


KIDDIES     SIX  105 

A  rocking  chair  swing  to  and  fro — his  young  and  bonny 

bride. 
He  hea^s  the  songs  of  childish  glee,  the  tread  of  childish 

feet; 

lie  feeb  the  dainty,  soft  caress  of  childish  lips  so  sweet. 
Through  memory's  haze  he  sees  the  toys  of  childhood  on 

the  floor — 
And  grandpa,  sitting  by  the  fire,  lives  through  the  days 

once  more. 

He   sits  beside   the   fireplace   and   dreams   of   days  long 

dead, 

Thf  ruddy  gleams  of  dancing  flames  a  halo  o'er  his  head. 
His  kindly  face  is  wreathed  in  smiles,  his  heart  is  young 

and  gay, 
And  children  gather   'round  his  knee  as  daylight  fades 

away. 

He  sings  them  songs  of  long  ago  when  he  was  but  a  boy ; 
When  life  was  only  sunshine,  and  love  without  alloy. 
And  seeing  with  their  youthful  eyes  those  long  gone  days 

of  yore, 
He  sits  beside  the  fireplace  and  lives  the  years  once  more. 


OLD  FOLKS  AT  HOME 

Around  this  world  for  many  a  year, 

'Neath  flags  of  many  a  hue, 
O'er  fertile  field  and  desert  drear, 

'Neath  clouds,  and  skies  of  blue, 
I've  roamed.    I've  seen  the  brightest  lights, 

The  deepest  depths  of  woe; 
The  fashions  at  the  greatest  heights, 

The  misery  down  below. 


106  KIDDIES     SIX 

'Neath  Spanish  skies  I've  heard  the  strain 

Of  many  a  soft  guitar; 
I've  heard  great  bands  in  loud  refrain 

Play  hymns  of  stirring  war. 
But  just  the  other  night  I  heard 

The  music  of  the  spheres — 
And  memory  flew  back,  like  a  bird, 

Through  all  the  long  gone  years. 

'Twas  down  in  old  St.  Louis,  too, 

I  heard  the  sweet  refrain 
That  brought  the  old  days  back  to  view — 

I  was  a  boy  again. 
A  great  crowd  sat  beneath  the  dome, 

Bright  lights  on  ev'ry  hand, 
And  Sembrich  sang  "Old  Folks  at  Home," 

"While  Max  Zach  led  the  band. 

I  saw  a  humble  little  place 

Far  down  a  village  street; 
I  saw  a  dear  old  smiling  face 

That  shone  with  blessings  sweet. 
I  walked  the  streets  I  used  to  roam, 

'Neath  trees  I  used  to  climb, 
When  Sembrich  sang  ' '  Old  Folks  at  Home, ' ' 

With  Max  Zach  beating  time. 

I  felt  upon  my  cheeks  the  kiss 

Of  boyhood's  dearest  friend — 
The  mother-touch  we  daily  miss, 

And  treasure  to  the  end. 
I  heard  the  birds  sing  in  the  trees, 

The  rippling  brooklet's  call; 
The  sighing  of  the  old-time  breeze, 

The  brown  nut's  pattering  fall. 


KIDDIES     SIX  107 

I  felt  the  touch  of  vanished  hands, 

Heard  sounds  of  voices  stilled; 
And  o'er  the  long  unswept  heartstrands 

Old  memories  throbbed  and  thrilled, 
And  brighter  grew  the  starlit  dome, 

And  life  grew  more  sublime, 
When  Sembrich  sang  "Old  Folks  at  Home," 

With  Max  Zach  keeping  time. 

Around  the  world  I've  roamed  for  years 

'Neath  flags  of  many  a  hue. 
I've  had  my  share  of  joys — and  tears — 

Storm  clouds  and  skies  of  blue. 
But  I'll  recall  while  on  I  roam 

Through  many  a  land  and  clime 
When  Sembrich  sang  "Old  Folks  at  Home," 

With  Max  Zach  keeping  time. 


THE    NEWS    FROM    HOME 

[With  the  writer's  best  wishes  for  many  more  years 
of  life  and  usefulness  to  "Deacon"  Dobyns,  Editor  of 
"The  Sentinel,"  of  Oregon,  Mo.] 


It's  just  like  getting  a  letter  from  home, 

This  little  old  sheet  from  the  town  I  was  born  in ; 
A  message  of  cheer  wherever  I  roam 

That  says  to  me  weekly  "Th'  top  o'  th'  mornin'!" 
It  brings  to  vision  a  picture  complete 

Of  streets  and  of  nooks  and  of  cool,  shady  places ; 
From  out  of  its  pages  it  seems  that  I  meet 

The  smile  and  the  cheer  of  the  old  friendly  faces. 


108  KIDDIES     SIX 

It's  not  a  journal  of  national  fame, 

This  six-column  sheet  from  the  town  of  my  boyhood ; 
But  week  after  week  I  long,  just  the  same, 

To  have  it  bring  back  to  me  scenes  of  youth's  joyhood. 

Eight  there  is  the  name  of  an  old  school  chum 

Who  with  me  has  wandered  the  miles  without  number. 
Ah,  where  are  the  others?  Some  lips  are  long  dumb, 

And  under  the  blossoms  of  springtime  they  slumber. 
Those  friends  of  boyhood — like  me  they've  grown  old. 

And  like  me  have  wandered  the  earth's  furthest  places. 
And  wouldn't  we  give  of  silver  and  gold 

To  smile  once  again  into  each  other's  faces? 

Each  time  I  get  it  and  scan  every  line 

It  seems  when  I'm  done  like  I'd  just  spent  a  week  in 
The  presence  of  those  dear  old  friends  of  mine, 

The    chums    of    my    boyhood,     and     Tom     and    the 

"Deacon." 
I  hear  once  again  the  clang  of  the  press, 

And  memory  brings  back  the  days  long  departed; 
Days  when  I  knew  naught  of  sorrow  and  stress — 

A  boy  in  the  old  town,  carefree  and  lighthearted. 

They  may  have  bigger,  and  better,  perhaps, 

Than  those  little  sheets  from  the  towns  we  w^re  born 

in; 
But  none  of  them  pleases  us  wandering  chaps 

Like    papers    from    home    with    their    "Top    o'    th' 

mornin ' ! " 
And  week  after  week  we  eagerly  look 

For  names  of  the  friends  of  the  days  long  behind  us — 
An  hour  a  week  in  some  cool,  quiet  nook 

With  the  welcome  old  sheet  to  of  old  days  remind  us. 


KIDDIES     SIX  109 

GOING  BACK 

I'm  going  back;  I'm  going  back,  and  be  a  boy  again, 
Leave  far  behind  the  cares  of  now  and  taste  the  joys  of 

then. 
I'm  going  to  dive  head-first  once  more  in  that  ol'  swim- 

min'  hole, 
And  wander  'long  the  river's  banks  with  my  cane  fishin' 

pole. 
Back  to  the  joys  of  yester  years,  when  life  was  free  from 

care; 
When  every  sky  was  azure  blue  and  every  breeze  was 

fair. 
I'm  going  to  sit  upon  the  bank  and  chew  the  rag  with 

Blunk, 
And   watch   to   see   my   bobbing   cork   go   underneath — 

ker-plunk ! 

I'm  going  back;  I'm  going  back,  through  all  the  vanished 

days 

And  gather  in  the  bloom  of  youth  along  the  old-time  ways. 
Down  by  the  mill  and  through  the  woods,  and  past  the 

shaded  hill, 
And  through  the  pasture  lot  that  lies  along  the  rippling 

rill; 

Eight  to  the  stump  that's  leaning  o'er  the  deepest,  dark- 
est pool, 
Where   lurk   the   bullheads   and   the   perch   beneath   the 

waters  cool. 
And  then,  forgetful  of  life's  cares,  I'll  sit  and  talk  with 

Blunk, 
While  we  keep  careful  watch  to  see  when  our  corks  go 

ker-plunk ! 

I'm  going  back;  I'm  going  back,  forgetful  of  the  years 


110  KIDDIES     SIX 

That  tinge  my  once  black  hair  with  gray,  forget  all 
cares  and  tears, 

To  be  a  care-free  boy  again,  with  happy,  joyous  heart, 

And  sit  and  fish  the  old,  old  stream  where  cautious  bull- 
heads dart. 

Then,  when  the  sun  sinks  slowly  down  behind  the  crim- 
son west, 

And  birds  and  beasts  have  settled  down  for  hours  of 
peaceful  rest, 

I'll  slowly  take  the  backward  trail,  and  later,  in  my 
bunk, 

I'll  say  my  "lay  me  down  to  sleep" — and  dream  of  youth, 
and  Blunk ! 


PICTURES 

Jack  Frost  can  paint  rare  pictures 

On  the  window  over  night, 
Tracing  myriad  forms  gymnastic 

With  his  pencil  cold  and  white. 
But  the  rarest,  fairest  picture 

That  high  art  can  e'er  attain 
Is  my  baby's  smiling  features 

Framed  within  the  windowpane. 

When  the  fiery  artist  limns  his 

Pictures  in  the  glowing  coals 
He  can  touch  the  finest  feelings 

Of  the  most  artistic  souls. 
But  the  sweetest,  neatest  picture 

Ever  shown  to  mortal  sight 
Is  my  baby's  smiling  features 

By  the  evening  lamp  alight. 

When  the  sun  god  lays  his  colors 
On  the  canvas  of  the  world, 


KIDDIES     SIX  111 

You  may  think  earth 's  richest  treasure 

To  your  gaze  has  been  unfurled. 
But  the  rarest,  fairest  picture 

I  can  ever  hope  to  know 
Is  my  baby's  smiling  features 

With  the  light  of  love  aglow. 


THE   CHEERUPATHIST 

When  you're  feel 'in  kind  o'  blue, 
An'  things  comin'  bad  for  you, 
Don't  give  up  in  blank  despair, 
Weep  or  wail  or  tear  your  hair ; 
Grit  your  teeth  an'  bow  your  neck; 
Show  th'  world  you're  right  on  deck. 
Smile  an'  say,  "Well,  here  we  come- 
Stand  aside  an'  watch  us  hum." 

You've  good  reason  to  be  glad 
That  though  things  are  comin'  bad, 
They  might  easily  be  worse ; 
So,  you're  foolish  if  you  curse 
'Stead  o'  tryin'  to  catch  sight 
Of  th'  silver  linin'  bright. 
Grit  your  teeth  an'  hustle  out 
An'  you'll  win  without  a  doubt. 

In  your  mind  th'  fable  bear 

Of  th'  tortoise  an'  th'  hare. 

You  may  be  a  movin'  slow — 

That  don't  matter — only  go. 

Don't  stand  still  an'  weep  an'  wail,    • 

But  keep  pluggin'  up  th'  trail. 

Smile  your  troubles  all  away 

An'  you'll  land  all  right  some  day. 


112  KIDDIES     SIX 

TODAY 

I  care  not  what  the  future  holds 

For  me  alone.    I  only  know 
In  summer  heats  and  winter  colds 

I'll  do  my  best  as  on  I  go. 
I'll  face  the  future  with  a  smile, 

Content  to  meet  whate  'er  may  be ; 
And  say  to  all  I  meet  the  while, 

Today  is  good  enough  for  me. 

I  may  not  win  a  golden  store, 

Nor  e  'er  achieve  undying  fame ; 
But  I,  at  least,  can  strive  the  more 

To  squarely  play  life's  little  game. 
I  may  not  build  a  future  great 

Nor  win  renown  upon  the  way; 
But  I,  at  least,  can  scoff  at  fate, 

For  I  am  master  of  today. 

Not  time,  nor  fate,  nor  circumstance 

Can  crush  the  hopes  that  in  me  lie; 
The  storms  that  rage,  the  lightning's  glance, 

But  clear  the  atmosphere  and  sky. 
I  fear  no  future,  for  I  know 

Whate 'er  betide  along  life's  way, 
For  me  the  flowers  bloom  and  blow, 

And  I  am  master  of  today. 

Come  good,  come  ill,  I  will  not  yield 

To  sullen  frown  nor  adverse  grasp ; 
With  utmost  strength  I'll  stand  and  wield 

The  weapons  that  my  hands  may  clasp. 
I'll  waste  no  time  in  idle  thought 

Of  what  the  future  hides  away; 
As  given  me,  so  have  I  wrought, 

And  I  am  master  of  today. 


KIDDIES     SIX  113 

GOD  BLESS  HIM! 

Here's  to  the  man  who  smiles  on  you 
And  gives  you  a  cheery  "howdy-do;" 
And  falls  in  step  when  you're  walking  lame 
From  the  bruises  met  in  the  world's  rough  game; 
Who  meets  you  with  a  warm  handclasp 
That  makes  old  trouble  fairly  gasp; 
Who  says  "hello!"  and  "howdy-do!" 
And  makes  the  world  grow  bright  for  you. 

Here's  to  the  man  you  chance  to  meet 
In  busy  mart  or  the  crowded  street, 
When  you  are  fairly  down  and  out 
And  lost  in  mire  of  deepest  doubt; 
Who  slaps  your  back  and  cries  "hello!" 
With  face  alight  with  friendship 's  glow ; 
Who  says  "hello;"  and  "howdy-do!" 
And  makes  life  take  a  brighter  hue. 

Here's  to  the  man  of  big,  brave  heart 
Who  dares  from  the  crowd  to  step  apart 
And  lend  a  hand  to  the  man  who  fell 
To  the  very  brink  of  the  lowest  hell ; 
Who  says,  "Hello!  what  cheer,  old  scout!" 
And  helps  him  up  to  the  right-about. 
Who  says  "hello!"  and  "howdy-do!" 
And  starts  him  off  on  the  way  anew. 

Here's  to  the  man  unknown  to  fame 
Who  loves  all  men  and  plays  the  game 
Of  this  life  square,  and  scorns  to  make 
A  profit  big  from  a  friend's  mistake; 
Whose  eyes  light  up  when  he  comes  your  way 
And  passes  a  pleasant  time  o'  day; 
Who  says  "hello!"  and  "howdy-do!" 
And  smiles,  and  gives  new  strength  to  you. 


114  KIDDIES     SIX 

"OLD  HOME  WEEK" 

Back  to  the  home  of  childhood ;  back  to  the  old,  old  days ; 
Back  to  the  dear  old  wildwood;  back  to  the  old  home 

ways, 

Where  our  young  feet  strayed  in  the  sun  and  shade, 
And  we  gaily  roamed  in  the  flow'ry  glade; 
When  life  was  a  dream  in  a  gnomeland  laid, 
And  all  of  the  unsought  future  was  bright  to  our  youth- 
ful gaze. 

Through  each  field  and  glen  of  the  Golden  Then 

Once  more  our  feet  are  straying, 
And  we  catch  the  breeze  in  the  old,  old  trees 

That  sweet  old  chants  are  playing. 
We  tread  the  paths  through  the  dear  old  grove; 
And  delve  in  memory's  treasure  trove, 
And  the  tired  Now  in  the  old  Then  blends 
And  we  grasp  the  hands  of  our  playtime  friends ; 
And  a  new  light  shines  in  our  weary  eyes 

As  the  old,  old  tunes  we're  humming. 
For  we've  laid  the  load  by  the  dusty  road 

To  haste  to  the  Old  Home  Coming. 

Through  the  quiet  street  our  eager  feet 

The  way  to  the  old  house  taking. 
To  our  eager  sight  on  the  left  and  right 

The  old-time  scenes  are  breaking. 
We  stand  once  more  in  the  dim  old  hall 
While  memory's  echoing  voices  call. 
We  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  sweet  old  face 
That  used  to  smile  by  the  fireplace, 
And  the  old  love  lies  in  those  dear  old  eyes 

That  memory  brings  to  greet  us. 
And  we  see  once  more  that  form  of  yore 

That  memory  brings  to  meet  us. 


KIDDIES     SIX  115 

Back  to  the  home  of  childhood;  back  to  the  old.  oM  days; 
Back  to  the  dear  old  wildwood;  back  to  the  old  home 

ways, 
"Where  we  dreamed  youth's  dreams  midst  the  golden 

gleams 

That  played  on  waves  of  the  rippling  streams; 
"When  life  was  as  light  as  the  noon  sun's  beams, 
And  all  of  the  unsought  future  was  bright  to  our  youth- 
ful gaze. 


WHEN  MY  SHIP  COMES  IN 

Working  and  smiling  I  wait  the  day 

When  my  ship  comes  sailing  in; 
Hoping,  when  it  shall  at  anchor  lay 
On  the  rippling  surface  of  my  life's  bay 

And  the  storm  has  hushed  its  din, 
That  it  shall  bring  in  its  laden  hold 
Not  ingot  bars  of  the  far  east's  gold, 
But  smiles  and  joys  of  my  lifelong  friends 
To  light  my  way  till  the  journey  ends — 
Then,  then  shall  the  perfect  peace  begin, 
When  my  ship  comes  sailing  in. 

Hope  burns  bright  though  the  clouds  hang  low, 

And  my  ship  sails  on  and  on. 
Far  out  at  sea  where  the  strong  winds  blow 
And  far-flung  clouds  'neath  the  blue  sky  go, 

The  captain  and  crew  have  gone. 
Love  is  the  captain,  and  Faith  the  crew, 
And  the  good  ship  sails  the  ocean  blue ; 
It  nearer  comes  with  each  closing  day, 
Plowing  the  waves  of  the  sea's  highway; 
On  through  the  sun  or  the  gray  mists  thin, 
Is  my  good  ship  sailing  in. 


116  KIDDIES     SIX 

Freighted  with  hopes  that  the  years  have  borne 

Is  the  ship  I  long  to  see. 

Balm  that  shall  heal  all  the  heart-strings  torn, 
Rest  for  the  hands  so  long  toil  worn, 

In  years  that  have  passed  o'er  me. 
Shadowy  forms  that  have  long  lain  cold 
In  the  dews  and  damps  of  the  church-yard  mold ; 
The  warm  handclasps  that  I  used  to  know, 
And  the  laughing  eyes  with  their  lovelight 

glow — 

Then  shall  be  hushed  all  the  world's  rough  din, 
When  my  ship  comes  sailing  in. 

When  white  sails  rise  to  my  waiting  eyes 

And  my  ship  shall  anchor  cast; 
When  the  hold  shall  yield  each  precious  prize 
And  lie  full  spread  'neath  the  bright  blue  skies 

And  I  count  my  joys  at  last; 
Then,  laying  my  toils  and  trials  by, 
And  all  of  my  loved  ones  drawing  nigh, 
I'll  rest  content  till  the  setting  sun; 
Shall  sing  to  sleep  with  my  life 's  work  done, 
And  wake  where  eternal  joys  begin 
After  my  ship  comes  in. 


UNDER  THE  MISTLETOE 

My  sweetheart  stood   'neath  the  mistletoe 

When  the  Christmas  morn  dawned  bright  and  fair ; 
I  saw  the  love  in  her  eyes  aglow 

As  she  waited,  smiling,  for  me  there. 
I  caught  the  challenge  she  flung  at  me — 

I  couldn't  help  it  to  save  my  life — 
And  springing  forward  I  planted  square 

A  kiss  on  the  lips  of  my  sweetheart- wife. 


KIDDIES     SIX  117 

JOHN'S  WEALTH 

Three  hundred  millions  all  he's  worth? 

How  poor  John  D.  must  feel ! 
Just  millions — nothing  else  on  earth, 

He  misses  much  that's  real. 
Three  hundred  million  ducats  piled 

In  one  large  yellow  stack—- 
And a  digestion  sadly  riled, 

With  stomach  out  of  whack. 

Three  hundred  million  "yellow  boys" 

To  do  with  as  may  please, 
And  yet  he  doesn't  know  the  joys 

Of  buttermilk  and  cheese. 
He's  got  the  dollars  in  his  clutch, 

But  little  good  they  do; 
He  cannot  eat  a  jolly  "Dutch 

Lunch"  just  like  me  and  you. 

Just  twenty  million  plunks   a  year, 

But  they  give  no  delight, 
He'd  give  'em  all  to  feel  the  cheer 

Of  a  good  appetite. 
A  hundred  thousand  plunks  a  day — 

Now  doesn't  that  sound  grand? 
But  John  would  give  'em  all  away 

To  eat  a  good  "corned  beef  and." 

John  has  a  palace  rich  and  grand 

Amidst  the  New  York  hills; 
I've  got  an  humble  cottage,  and 

I  toil  to  meet  my  bills. 
But  my  digestion's  something  fine. 

And  appetite  0.  K. 
And  I'd  not  trade  these  joys  of  mine 

For  all  John  D.'s  today. 


118  KIDDIES     SIX 

MY  VACATION 

I  read  about  the  mountains, 

Scenery  sublime  and  great; 
Of  purling  streams  and  fountains, 

Trout  with  greed  insatiate. 
I  read  of  long  vacations 

Spent  in  shadows  of  the  peak — 
But  I'll  make  no  preparation, 

For  I'll  only  have  a  week. 

I  read  about  the  ocean, 

Wavelets  breaking  bright  and  blue ; 
Read  of  storm  king's  wild  commotion, 

Cliffs  and  crags  of  rugged  view. 
But  I  only  read  and  ponder, 

For  I'll  only  have  a  week. 
So  I'll  dig  some  worms  and  wander, 

Fish  for  bullheads  in  the  creek. 


MY  PART 

I  may  not  lead  some  great  world-wide  reform 

That  benefits  my  fellowman; 
But  I  can  show  my  sympathies  are  warm 

And  cheer  the  men  who  can. 

I  may  not  have  the  brains  to  lead  a  fight 
Against  the  wrongs  on  every  hand; 

But  I  can  help  the  man  who  has,  all  right — 
I'll  cheer  to  beat  the  band. 

I  may  not  give  to  all  who  hunger  feel 

A  feast  of  viands  rich  and  rare ; 
But  I  can  give  some  brother  half  my  meal 

And  banish  one's  despair. 


KIDDIES     SIX  119 

I  may  not  slay  the  dragons  lust  and  greed 
That  day  by  day  oppress  my  fellowman; 

But  I  can  cheer  and  wish  a  warm  God-speed 
Unto  the  man  who  can. 

I  may  not  be  the  man  to  point  the  way 
To  nobler  words  and  thoughts  and  deeds; 

But  I  can  cheer,  and  thus  help  day  by  day 
The  man  who  can — and  leads. 

I  may  not  have  the  talent  at  command 

To  fire  men 's  hearts  to  battle  'gainst  the  wrong ; 

But  when  I  see  one,  by  him  I  can  stand 
And  help  the  work  along. 


THE  MISTLETOE 

She  stood  beneath  the  mistletoe, 

Innocent  as  could  be; 
She  looked  about  her  everywhere 

At  everyone  but  me. 
And  I — well,  I  just  took  a  chance 

Amidst  the  revelers  there, 
And  pressing  forward  to  her  side 

I  kissed  her,  fair  and  square. 

Then  later,  in  a  shaded  nook, 

From  interference  free, 
She  said  she  knew  I'd  take  the  bait 

And  didn't  look  at  me. 
And  so,  young  man,  I'd  give  advice 

"Just  watch  your  chance  and  go 
For  her  who  never  looks  at  you, 

Under  the   mistletoe." 


120  KIDDIES     SIX 

REAL  MUSIC 

You  may  talk  about  Beethoven,  of  Mozart  and  Ruben- 
stein, 

For  their  music  may  be  bully — but  another  kind  for  mine. 

You  may  talk  about  sonatas  with  their  low  and  swelling 
chords, 

Or  about  those  airy  nothings  that  are  called  "songs 
without  words." 

And  your  rhapsodies  and  fuges,  with  their  trills  and 
roundelays 

May  be  counted  as  artistic  and  entitled  to  our  praise. 

But  the  music  that  best  suits  me  with  its  swelling  cadence 
sweet 

Is  the  clatter  of  the  binder  in  the  fields  of  waving  wheat. 

Mendelssohn  was  some  musician,  and  of  rourse  you  ought 

to  know 

Paganini  was  the  master  of  the  fiddle  and  the  bow. 
Paderewski  is  a  wonder  when  he  paws  his  yellow  hair 
And  gets  busy  with  the  iv'ry,  thumping  on  the  keys  for 

fair. 
And  there's  Sousa  with  his  brasses  playing  marches  full 

of  swing. 
Till  you  feel  your  feet  a-tapping  while  the  very  echoes 

ring. 
But  the  music  that  will  hold  me,   make   my  happiness 

complete, 
Is  the  clatter  of  the  binder  in  the  fields  of  waving  wheat. 

You  can  hear  the  song  of  plenty  rise  above  the  rolling 

plain 
As  the  busy  binder  clatters  through  the  fields  of  golden 

grain. 
You  can  hear  the  happy  laughter  that  about  the  land  is 

spread 


KIDDIES     SIX  121 

When  the  music  of  the  binder  means  a  busy  world  well 
fed. 

For  across  the  hills  and  valleys  sound  the  chorus  of 
content, 

Till  the  world  joins  in  the  singing  of  the  people's  better- 
ment. 

And  the  summer  air  is  freighted  with  the  harvest  music 
sweet 

As  the  busy  binder  clatters  through  the  fields  of  waving 
wheat. 


[Verses  read  at  the  Old  Settlers'  meeting  at  Nemaha 
City,  Nebr.,  August  2,  1907.] 


In  the  far  gone  days  when  the  land  was  young; 

And  the  West  a  land  as  a  thing  unknown ; 
With  the  golden  future  a  song  unsung 

And  the  sentinel  buttes  stood  guard  alone, 
A  rumor  spread  through  the  rockbound  steeps 

And  the  stony  fields  of  the  eastern  slope 
That  far  out  west  where  the  sundown  sleeps 

Was  the  land  of  promise,  and  youth,  and  hope. 

To  the  stirring  call  of  this  far  new  land 

There  came  response  as  in  days  of  yore 
When  the  great  crusades  called  that  gallant  band 

That  bravely  marched  with  the  cross  before; 
And  on  they  swept  and  ever  on, 

Till  on  history's  page  at  last  appears 
The  names  whose  fame   'round  the  world  has  gone- 

This  gallant  army  of  pioneers. 


122  KIDDIES     SIX 

On,  on  they  came  like  the  restless  tide, 

Sweeping  far  out  to  the  sundown  west; 
In  the  matchless  strength  of  their  free  born  pride, 

The  nation's  hope,  and  the  nation's  best. 
And  ever  and  on  their  far  front  spread 

Through  days  and  nights  of  the  toil-scarred  years, 
Till  the  desert  wastes,  like  the  fog  mists,  fled 

At  the  .onward  sweep  of  the  pioneers. 

The  prairies,  scarred  by  the  oxdrawn  craft, 

Spread  out  before  like  the  Promised  Land, 
And  then,  at  the  touch  of  toil  it  laughed 

To  fruitful  harvests  on  every  hand. 
But  not  alone  in  their  strength  they  wrought 

Through  weary  days  of  their  hopes  and  fears, 
For  the  God,  whose  help  and  strength  they  sought, 

Marched  side  by  side  with  the  pioneers. 

With  sturdy  blows  and  with  purpose  true 

They  built  their  homes  out  of  prairie  sod; 
Giving  the  nation  a  great  state  new, 

Giving  their  hearts  to  home  and  God. 
And  thus  was  carved  from  the  barren  waste 

An  empire  built  for  eternal  years, 
And  the  men  at  the  posts  of  danger  placed 

Were  these  great  souls — the  Pioneers. 

So  here  is  a  song  to  the  women  and  men 

Who  pushed  their  way  to  the  wide-spread  west; 
Whose  span  of  life  'twixt  now  and  then 

Has  given  this  nation  its  grandest,  best. 
And  ever  we'll  sing  while  eternity  rolls 

Unceasing  cycles  of  gathering  years 
Our  songs  of  rejoicing  for  these  great  souls 

Who  builded  Nebraska — The  Pioneers. 


KIDDIES     SIX  123 

THANKSGIVING 

Getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving — turkey  fat  and  grow- 
ing fine — 

Lots  of  reason  to  be  thankful;  blessings  full  and  free 
are  mine. 

Health  and  home  and  smiles  of  loved  ones;  friends  to 
greet  me  on  my  way ; 

Love  and  laughter  making  music  where  my  happy  chil- 
dren play. 

Cosy  nook  beside  the  fire  when  the  evening  shadows  fall 

And  the  ease  of  solid  comfort  gathers  'round  and  over  all. 

Getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving? — Ev'ry  day  let  it  be 
said 

We  have  cause  for  deep  thanksgiving  for  the  blessings 
'round  us  spread. 

Getting    ready    for    Thanksgiving — from    the    distance 

wide  apart 
"We  can  feel  the  loving  message  heart  is  sending  forth 

to  heart. 

From  the  far-off  lands  and  places  where  their  busy  foot- 
steps roam 
We  can  hear  them  gladly  singing:    "Wait  for  us;  we're 

coming  home." 
Home,  to  old-time  scenes  and  places;  home  to  loved  ones 

always  dear; 
Home,  around  the  family  table  with  its  wealth  of  love 

and  cheer. 
Getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving — happy  milestone  on  the 

way 
Where  we  give  thanks  for  the  blessings  spread  about  us 

day  by  day. 

Getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving — that's  the  place  for 
father's  chair — 


124  KIDDIES     SIX 

Where  the  ruddy  flames  will  glisten  on  the  silver  in  his 
hair. 

And  that  easy  rocker  by  it — empty  all  these  fleeting 
years — 

We  will  see  a  loved  form  take  it  through  the  mist  of 
falling  tears. 

This  for  brother;  this  for  sister — Ah,  the  circle  is  com- 
plete 

As  we  clasp  hands  'round  the  fire  in  communion  silent, 
sweet. 

Getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving — raise  the  window  cur- 
tain high 

That  the  lamp  may  be  a  beacon  to  the  loved  ones  draw- 
ing nigh. 


CHRISTMAS 

While  the  Christmas  bells  are  ringing  out  the  message  of 

good  will, 

And  the  echoes  fling  the  tidings  over  ev  'ry  vale  and  hill ; 
While  the  Christmas  star  is  shining  with  a  radiance  the 

game 
As  it  had  that  wondrous  morning  when  the  blessed  Christ 

Child  came ; 

When  we  raise  our  voices,  singing  songs  of  earnest,  lov- 
ing praise 
For  the  joys  that  lie  about  us,  making  bright  our  earthly 

ways — 
Let  us  give  a  thought  to  others  who  in  joy  have  little 

part 
Till  we've  learned  the  blessed  lesson — keeping  Christmas 

in  the  heart. 


KIDDIES     SIX  125 

Hark!     Above  the  Christmas  carols  hear  the  children's 

plaintive  cry; 
Hear  the  broken  sobs  of  widows  doomed  by  pestilence 

to  die 

In  the  tenements  so  fetid;  victims  of  inhuman  greed; 
Slaughtered  to  the   god   of  Mammon — they   for  justice 

vainly  plead. 
See   the   pallid   little   faces,   hear   them   vainly   beg   for 

crumbs ; 
See  the  noisome  hives  of  humans  where  no   Christmas 

ever  comes. 

You  who  have  enough  of  blessing  ne  'er  can  have  a  right- 
ful part 
In  the  real  joys  of  Christmas  till  you've  Christmas  in  the 

heart. 

While  the  Christmas  bells  are  ringing  out  their  messages 

so  clear, 
Go  ye  out  among  your  fellows,  spread  the  gospel  of  good 

cheer. 
From  some  heart  bowed  down  in  sorrow  lift  the  bitter 

load  of  woe; 
In   some   home  [with   gloom   o'erahadowed   spread  'the 

cheerful  Christmas  glow; 
To   some   child,    some   weeping   widow,    working   out   a 

wretched  lot 
Take  a  share  of  Christmas  blessing — show  them  God  has 

not  forgot. 
Just  divide  your  Christmas  blessings,  give  unfortunates 

a  part, 

And  you'll  double  joys  of  Christmas — keeping   Christ- 
mas in  the  heart. 


126  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  REVERSE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SHIELD 

(An  Easter  Morning  Reverie) 
Along  the  chancel  rail,  and  on  the  altar  stair, 
The  sweetest  lilies  give  their  fragrance  to  the  air. 

The  deep-toned  organ  swells, 
And  vested  choir  in  richest,  fullest  chord, 
Sings  songs  of  praise  unto  the  risen  Lord. 

Each  ringing  anthem  tells 
That  from  the  dark  and  dismal  earthly  prison 
The  King  of  Kings  and  Lord  of  Lords  is  risen. 

The  nodding  plumes  on  heads  bowed  down  in  prayer; 
The  incense  of  sweet  blossoms  on  the  quiet  air, 

The  flashing  gems  and  gold ; 
The  soft  and  silken  rustle,  the  content 
On  every  face  for  richest  blessing  sent 

On  these  within  the  fold — 

All  these  amidst  the  Easter  lilies'  fragrant  bloom 
Drives  care  away  and  light  drives  out  the  gloom. 

But  what  of  those  for  whom  no  blooming  lilies  fair 
Shed  richest  fragrance  on  the  Easter  morning  air? 

God's  poor,  to  whom  content 
Means  but  a  crust,  a  rag  for  shiv'ring  forms, 
A  hovel  as  a  home  from  all  life's  storms — 

In  filth-strewn  tenement. 
Souls  seared  by  sin  because  God's  holy  word 
As  taught  in  yon  great  church  is  never  heard. 

The  children  of  the  sweat-shop,  starving,  sunken-eyed? 
Was't  not  for  such  as  these  the  Gentle  Master  died? 

Have  they  no  place  and  part? 

Hopeless,  soul-starved,  with  blank  and  tear-stained  face, 
Have  they,  in  all  this  Easter  pomp  and  pride,  no  place? 

Can  there  be  contrite  heart 

Within  the  breast  of  one  who  'midst  the  lilies  kneels 
And  for  these  little  ones  no  touch  of  pity  feels? 


KIDDIES     SIX  127 

The  perfumed  flowers  upon  your  corsage  white 
"Would  mean  to  starving  children  food  and  clothes  and 
light. 

Each  diamond-studded  ring 
Upon  your  hand,  unmarked  by  toil  or  care, 
Would  give  a  thousand  children  God's  fresh  air, 

And  richest  roses  bring 

Back  to  their  sunken  cheeks.    You  think  God  ever  hears 
The  empty  prayers  above  the  children's  falling  tears? 

Loud  ring  the  Easter  bells;  the  solemn  anthems  rise 
Through  nave  and  arch — the  while  the  child  slave  starves 
and  dies 

Within  their  glorious  sounds. 

Grim  Death  stalks   'round,  with  misery,  want  and  woe 
To  mark  the  path  where  Death  walks  sentry-go. 

' '  The  Lord  is  risen — Love  abounds ! ' ' 
But  thousands  of  His  loved  ones — of  such  the  Kingdom 

they — 
Starve,  and  within  the  shadow  of  His  church  today. 


EASY 

I  bought  my  wife  a  meerschaum  pipe 

And  kept  it  hid  away; 
Until  I  could  hand  it  to  her 

Upon  last  Christmas  day. 

For  me  she  bought  a  collarette — 

A  sealskin  beauty,  too. 
She  hung  it  on  the  Christmas  tree 

And  said:    "Dear,  it's  for  you." 

That  evening,  when  'twas  time  to  dine, 

We  both  sat  down  to  sup, 
She  with  the  pipe,  I  with  the  fur — 

And  traded,  even  up. 


128  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE    FARMER    PAYS    IT    ALL 

[Written  for  a  Farmers'  Union  picnic  held  near  Hen- 
nessey, Okla.,  and  recited  by  Miss  Bumps,  daughter  of 
Elmer  Bumps,  a  prominent  member  of  that  organization.] 


We  have  heard  in  song  and  story  of  the  heroes  who  win 

glory 

Fighting,  dying,   'neath  the  old  red,  white  and  blue; 
And  their  memories  we  are  praising  and  tall  columns  we 

are  raising 

To  the  soldiers  of  the  nation,  tried  and  true. 
We  have  watched  the  corporations  get  a  death  grip  on 

the  nations, 

And  we  've  seen  the  giant  trusts  their  coffers  fill ; 
We  have  seen  the  king's  financial  pile  up  fortunes  quite 

substantial — 
And  the  farmers  of  the  nation  foot  the  bill. 

We  have  seen,  as  years  were  rolling,  men  the  big  trust 

kings  extolling, 

We  have  seen  the  nation's  bounds  extended  wide. 
We  have  heard  that  trade  and  barter  to  extend  must 

have  a  starter, 

So  a  subsidy  for  ships  must  be  applied. 
We  have  heard  the  railroad  bosses  say  they're  up  against 

great  losses 

If  with  water  their  great  stocks  they  can  not  fill ; 
And  a  lot  of  men  will  swear  if  we  complain  about  the 

tariff- 
But  the  farmers  of  the  nation  foot  the  bill. 

Day  by  day  we  toil  and  labor,  scarcely  seeing  nearest 

neighbor, 
While  the  men  who  profit  from  our  honest  toil 


KIDDIES     SIX  129 

Live  in  ease  and  laughing  gaily,  watch  us  while  we're 

toiling  daily 

To  bring  forth  the  fruits  of  Nature  from  the  soil. 
Don't  you  think,  0  toiling  brother,  toiling  wife  and  toil- 
ing mother, 

That  it's  time  we  stood  a  strong,  united  band? 
Don't  you  know  that  once  united  all  our  toil  Will  be 

requited, 
And  that  we  would  be  the  rulers  of  the  land? 

Join  our  union !    Stand  together  in  sunshine  or  stormy 

weather, 

Face  to  face,  heart  to  heart,  and  hand  to  hand. 
All  our  mutual  burdens  bearing,  all  our  daily  blessings 

sharing, 

All  for  one  and  one  for  all,  united  stand. 
Hear  the  voice  of  Union  calling;  see  the  foe  is  backward 

falling ; 

Clouds  of  wrong  are  scattered  by  the  rising  sun. 
Armed  with  ballots  ready,  forward !    God  Almighty  hates 

a  coward — 
Do  your  duty  and  our  battle  will  be  won. 


THREE   SINGERS 

When  Lewis  lilts  his  songs  o'  home, 
And  Stanton  lilts  o'  spring; 

When  Griffin  lilts  o'  days  to  come, 
I  catch  their  rythmic  swing. 

I  catch  the  gleam  o'  window  lights 
And  smell  the  incense  rare 

Of  coming  days  adown  the  ways 

When  I  can  raise  my  songs  o'  praise, 
With  never  doubt  nor  care. 


130  KIDDIES     SIX 

When  Lewis  sings  his  songs  o'  love 

My  thoughts  to  homeward  turn; 
I  see  the  gleams  of  treasure  trove 

Where  love's  bright  altars  burn. 
The  laughter  of  fay  children  rings 

Like  music  on  the  air ; 
Far  down  the  street  the  music  sweet 
Bids  tired  feet  make  haste  to  meet 

The  laughing  loved  ones  there. 

When  Stanton  tunes  his  songs  o'  spring 

The  incense  laden  breeze 
Makes  all  the  bare,  brown  branches  swing 

Upon  the  budding  trees. 
And  smoother  grows  life's  road  for  me, 

And  light  my  load  of  care ; 
While  brighter  beams  the  springtime  gleams 
That  wake  the  streams  from  ice-locked  dreams, 

And  joy  beams  everywhere. 

When  Griffin  sings  o'  days  to  come, 

When  safe  in  port  at  last, 
My  ship  with  load  of  joy  is  home. 

And  sure  kedge  anchor  cast, 
I  see  behind  the  clouds  of  toil 

The  sun  of  rest  shine  bright ; 
I  see  the  rays  that  light  the  ways 
Adown  the  days  where  life's  road  lays. 

And  thank  God  all  is  right. 

When  Lewis,  Stanton,  Griffin  sing, 
I  see  dull  care  take  rapid  wing; 
And  brighter  grows  the  world  for  me 
While  listening  to  this  singing  three. 


KIDDIES     SIX  131 

IN    THE    OLD    DAYS 

Once   more   we've   talked  the   old   days   o'er 

With  craftsmen  of  the  case ; 
Once  more  we've  seen  the  old-time  smile 

Upon  each  comrade's  face. 
We've  told  the  tales  of  bygone  days, 

Of  fortunes  high  and  low, 
And  sung  about  the  Pirates  bold 

Once  more  in  old  St.  Joe. 

We've  told  again  the  old-time  tales 

Of  blind-end,  rod  and  beam; 
We've  gone  again  along  the  trails 

Once  passed  by  hand  or  steam. 
We've  talked  of  Busby,  Dunbar,  Lee, 

And  all  the  Pirate  crew 
Whose  faults  were  always  manifest 

Though  hearts  were   ever  true. 

Once  more  we've  sung  the  old,  old  "Hail" 

To  tell  "the  gang's  all  here." 
Once  more  we've  heard  the  good  old  vows 

The  printerman  holds  dear. 
And  once  again  we've  gathered  faith 

That  holds  us  staunch  and  true 
To  all  the  principles  laid  down 

By  good  old  I.  T.  U. 

And  when  the  last  take's  off  the  hook, 

The  last  form  locked  and  down; 
The  last  dupe  cut  and  pasted  up 

And  smoothed  the  foreman's  frown — 
When  all  is  done,  God  grant  the  gang 

Across  the  stream  may  ride 
And  get  a  sit  close  by  the  throne 

Upon  the  regular  side. 


132  KIDDIES     SIX 

IS  IT  WORTH  WHILE? 

He  worshipped  golden  idols  and  the  shining  dollar  mark 
Lured  him  on  through  days  of  sunshine   and  through 

evening  shadows  dark. 
Piling  millions  his  ambition,  he  reached  out  for  golden 

store, 
And  each  dollar  that  he  garnered  made  him  reach  and 

grab  for  more. 
Thousands  toiled  to  make  him  profit,  sweat  to  make  him 

rich  and  great, 

Till  he  owned  a  fortune  equal  to  the  riches  of  a  state. 
Then,   worn  out  in   chasing  money,   he   laid  down  and 

quickly  died, 
And  he  couldn't  take  it  with  him  when  he  crossed  the 

Great  Divide. 

Friends   of  early  days  forgotten  he  for   golden  eagles 

chased, 
And  the  friendships  men  should  covet  were  by   greed 

for  gain  displaced. 
To  broad  acres  rich  and  fertile  he  could  read  his  title 

clear ; 
At  his  nod  great  rulers  cowered  and  their  subjects  quaked 

with  fear. 
"When  he  spoke  the  millions  listened,  for  he  ruled  with 

golden  sway, 

And  he  added  to  his  millions  ev'ry  moment  of  the  day. 
But  at  last  Death  sent  its  summons  and  cut  down  his 

golden  pride, 
And  he  left  his  wealth  behind  him  when  he  crossed  the 

Great  Divide. 

What  is  life  if  it  be  given  to  pursuit  of  yellow  gold? 
Can  a  life  that's  ruled  by  money  any  of  its  joys  behold! 
Friendship  that  is  worth  the  having  is  not  bought  like 
merchandise, 


KIDDIES     SIX  133 

And  the  richest  joys  of  living  are  not  bound  by  golden 

ties. 
What  shall  profit  him  who   gaineth  fortune's   greatest, 

richest  goal 

If  in  gaming  he  doth  forfeit  through  eternity  his  soul? 
Don't  waste  life  in  piling  dollars  till  the  light  of  love 

they  hide, 
For  you  can  not  take  them  with  you  when  you  cross  the 

Great  Divide. 


OLD    HOME    WEEK 

"Old  Home  Week"  in  Missouri — of  course  I  am  going 

home — 
Back  down  to  the  days  and  the  old  time  ways,  and  happy 

and  free  I'll  roam 
Down  through  01'  Russell's  pasture,  and  over  by  Kun- 

kel's  mill, 
And  back  again  through  the  shady  lane  to  the  old  house 

on  the  hill. 
On  the  grass  grown  banks  of  the  Tarkio,  where  oft  in  the 

past  I  strayed, 
Once  more  I'll  lay  in  a  lazy  way  neath  the  drooping 

willow's  shade. 
I'll  walk  along  the  wide   old  street  to   the   old   school 

bouse  below, 
While  the  deep-toned  bell  sweet  tales  will  tell  of  the 

day  of  long  ago. 

"Old  Home  Week"  in  Missouri,  and  all  of  us  going 
back — 

Back,  girls  and  boys,  to  the  old-time  joys  on  th'  old  well- 
beaten  track, 

Over  the  flower-strewn  meadows,  and  down  where  the 
orchards  sweep, 


134  KIDDIES     SIX 

And  over  the  hills  and  down  the  rills  where  the  soft 

cloud-shadows  creep, 
When  the  twilight  falls  as  the  day  is  done  I'll  turn  my 

eager  feet 
To  the  litle  cot  and  the  garden  plot,  with  their  mem'ries 

sad  and  sweet. 
I'll  pierce  the  gloom  of  the  vanished  years,  I'll  see  each 

well-loved  face 
In  the  twilight  gloom  of  the  sitting  room  in  my  boyhood's 

old  home  place. 

"Old  Home  Week"  in  Missouri,  from  the  regions  wide 

apart, 
From  shops,  and  fields  with  their  fertile  yields,  from  busy 

and  noisy  mart, 
We  are  going  back  to  the  old  home  state,  back  to  the 

paths  flower-strewn, 
And  the  Mother  State  in  her  strong  arms  great  will  once 

more  clasp  her  own. 
She  calls  to  us  o'er  the  distance  wide — we  answer  the 

loving  cry — 
We  hurry  back  o'er  the  old  home  track,  and  ever  as  we 

draw  nigh 
We  shout  the  name  of  the  old  home  state — Missouri — 

dear  old  Mizzou! 
We  heard  you  call,  and  one  and  all,  we're  hurrying  back 

to  you! 


SOME  RESOLUTIONS 

Goin'  t'  keep  a  smilin'  as  th'  years  go  rollin'  by, 

Coin'  t'  look  for  sun  a  shinin'  back  o'  clouds  that  line 

th'  sky; 

Goin'  t'  cut  out  grumblin'  an'  I  ain't  a  goin'  t'  sigh, 
'Cause  there  ain't  no  use  a  keepin'  up  a  worry. 


KIDDIES     SIX  135 

Goin'  t'  do  my  duty  daily  an'  trust  God  t'  do  th'  rest; 
Goin'  t'  keep  a  lively  hustle  an'  just'  do  my  level  best; 
Goin'  t'  tackle  ev'ry  duty  with  th'  greatest  kind  o'  zest, 
'Cause  there  ain't  no  use  a  givin'  way  t'  worry. 

Goin'  t'  sing  a  song  o'  joytime  when  I  near  my  cottage 

door ; 

Goin'  t'  roll  around  with  babies  on  th'  little  cottage  floor; 
Goin'  t'  thank  God  for  th'  blessin's  that  upon  me  daily 

pour, 
'Cause  there  ain't  no  use  o'  wastin'  time  in  worry. 

Goin'  t'  face  all  kinds  o'  weather  without  airy  sigh  or 

fear; 

Goin'  t'  do  my  best  to  dry  up  ev'ry  bitter  fallin'  tear, 
Goin'  t'  play  th'  ol'  game  squarely  all  around  th'  comin' 

year, 
'Cause  it  never  pays  a  feller  for  t'  worry. 

Goin'  t'  bask  within  th'  lovelight  that's  awaitin'  me  at 
home; 

Goin'  t'  say  goodby  t'  troubles  if  around  my  path  they 
roam; 

Goin'  t'  put  my  best  foot  forward  an'  my  trust  in  king- 
dom come, 
'Cause  it's  wastin'  precious  time  t'  fret  an'  worry. 


"DIXIE" 

Now  they  talk  o'  changin'  "Dixie," 

And  I  hear  th'  ringin'  notes 
Of  th'  ol'  song  through  th'  Southland 

From  a  hundred  thousand  throats. 
I  can  hear  th'  ol'  words  ringin', 

S-oundin'  from  bayou'  t'  sea — 
"Dixie  Land  where  I  was  born  in" — 

An'  they're  good  enough  for  me. 


136  KIDDIES     SIX 

I  can  see  th'  ol'  host  marchin' 

While  th'  sunbeams  dance  an'  play 
On  th'  battleflags  an'  guidons 

An'  th'  tattered  suits  o'  gray. 
I  can  hear  th'  fife's  thin  shrillin' 

As  old  days  come  back  to  me — 
"In  Dixie  land  I'll  take  my  stand" — 

An'  they're  good  enough  for  me. 

I  can  hear  a  band  a  playin' 

Way  out  past  our  picket  line; 
Blue  clad  boys  a  makin'  music 

Soundin'  soft  an'  sweet  an'  fine. 
"Hail  Columbia"  comes  a  rollin' 

From  the  band  an'  quick's  can  be 
Back  we  send  th'  answer,  "Dixie," — 

An'  it's  good  enough  for  me. 

I  can  see  that  gray  host  marchin' — 

Fightin'  done  an'  goin'  home. 
But  it's  still  a  singin'  "Dixie," 

Full  o'  hope  for  days  to  come. 
An'  from  ev'ry  band  in  Northland 

Comes  th'  old  tune,  wild  an'  free — 
"Away  down  south  in  Dixie — " 

An'  them  old  words  just  suit  me. 

When  th'  old  "Star  Spangled  Banner" 

Rings  out  on  th'  evenin'  air, 
North  an'  South  we  come  up  standin'. 

Eyes  upon  "Old  Glory"  there. 
An'  we've  buried  strife  forever 

'Neath  that  banner  of  th'  free — 
An'  both  North  an'  South  sing  "  Dixie  "- 

Good  enough — just  let  it  be. 


KIDDIES     SIX  137 

Talk  about  a  change  in  "Dixie!" 

Sonny,  hand  me  that  new  gun — 
One  you  had  way  down  in  Cuba 

Under  that  old  flag.    Which  one  ? 
Why,  there  ain't  but  one  flag,  sonny; 

Stars  an'  stripes — flag  of  th'  free — 
An'  beneath  it  I'll  sing  "Dixie"— 

Old  words,  too — they  just  suit  me ! 


LIFE 

A  little  grief,  and  much  of  joy 

Marks   every   day. 
A  wealth  of  love  without  alloy, 

Along  life's  way. 
A  little  toil,  a  little  pain, 
The  glint  of  sun,  the  welcome  rain, 

And  then  comes  night. 
A  peaceful  rest  at  set  of  sun, 
A  welcome  home  when  work  is  done, 

And  life's  all  right. 

A  time  to  meet,  a  time  to  part ; 

Friends  come  and  go. 
Hand  clasping  hand,  heart  beats  to  heart, 

Comes  joy,  comes  woe. 
The  radiant  light  of  clear  blue  skies, 
The  welcome  gleam  in  children's  eyes, 

Make  hearts  grow  light. 
A  battle  won  for  those  loved  best, 
And  troubles  faced  with  merry  jest, 

And  life's  all  right. 


138  KIDDIES     SIX 

LOCATING   THE    BLAME 

Each  morn  he  perched  before  the  bar 

And   gulped  his  liquor  down, 
And  'twixt  each  drink  he'd  say,  "I  think 

The  fates  upon  me  frown." 
He'd  say  Dame  Fortune  passed  him  by 

And  made  him  good  jobs  lose ; 
He  blamed  each  day  that  slipped  away— 

But  he  never  blamed  the  booze. 

From  off  the  cool,  enticing  stein 

He'd  blow  the  creamy  foam, 
And  'twixt  each  draught  he  cursed  the  "graft" 

That  robbed  the  kids  at  home. 
"My  kids  in  rags,  my  wife  forlorn," 

He  sighed  'midst  many  a  tear 
"And  I  could  name  the  trust  to  blame" — 

But  he  never  blamed  the  beer. 

"Here's  to  you,  pal!"  he  would  exclaim 

Some  seven  times  an  hour, 
And  'twixt  each  drink  he'd  say,  "I  think 

The  trusts  are  sure  in  power. 
They  rob  our  children  of  their  grub, 

Their  shoes  are  torn  and  thin; 
The  trust's  to  blame  for  all  our  shame" — 

But  he  never  blamed  the  gin. 

"The  trusts  have  got  us  by  the  throat," 

Full  oft  I've  heard  him  say; 
"They  reign  in  state  while  we  must  wait 

Their  pleasure   every   day." 
He  blamed  them  for  his  rotten  luck, 

He  blamed  them  low  and  high; 
With  glass  held  tight  he  blamed  them  right — 

But  he  never  blamed  the  rye. 


KIDDIES     SIX  139 


At  home  his  wife  and  little  ones 

In  hunger,  rags  and  tears, 
Knew  well  the  cause  of  all  things  was 

The  bourbon,  gin  and  beers. 
They  knew  just  where  to  lay  the  blame 

For  lack  of  food  and  shoes; 
For  lack  of  clothes  and  hunger's  woes- 

And  they  just  blamed  the  booze. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 

In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  whose  uplifting  peaks  of 

gray 
Pierce  the  misty  clouds  that  hover  o'er  the  vista   day 

by   day; 
In    each    grim    and    rocky    fastness    where    the    purling 

waters  leap 
And   the   sighing,   cooling   breezes   lull   the   senses   into 

sleep ; 

"Where  eternal  snows  of  winter  decorate  each  rocky  crest 
And  the  balmy  scent  of  pine  trees  comes  with  magic 

healing  blest — 
In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  whose  gray  peaks  shall 

never  nod, 
Pointing  upward  to  the  heavens  like  the  sentinels  of  God. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  wrought  in  wonderful 
design 

By  the  deft  and  ready  fingers  of  a  master  hand  divine; 

Where  each  peak  and  crag  and  canyon,  while  the  count- 
less ages  roll, 

Tells  to  a  man  a  wondrous  story  that  shall  glorify  his 
soul; 

In  the  grim  and  rocky  presence  of  these  great  Titanic 
walls 


140  KIDDIES     SIX 

AVhere  the  arms  of  nature  welcome  and  the  voice  of  na- 
ture calls — 

In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  whose  gray  leagues  are 
yet  untrod 

One  can  read  creation's  story  in  the  handiwork  of  God. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  whose  gray  peaks  are 

limned  in  gray 
And  the  cloud-drifts  float  and  hurry  like  some  giant  folk 

at  play; 
Where,  while  standing  in  the  presence  of  a  work  so  great 

and  grand, 
Men  can  get  a  glimpse  of  power  of  the  great  Almighty's 

hand. 
And  across  his  soul  there  stealeth,  like  the  shadows  o'er 

the  peaks. 
Awe  that  stills  him  into  silence  while  the  Great  Creator 

speaks — 
In  the  shadow  of  the  mountains,  grim  gray  peaks  that 

never  nod, 
Man  stands  face  to  face  in  silence  with  the  sentinels  of 

God. 


LONGING 

I  want  to  write  for  a  daily  that's  honest,  and  square,  and 
true; 

"Whose  business  office  won't  censor  the  news  that  is  pass- 
ing through. 

A  daily  that  turns  its  searchlight  alike  on  the  great  and 
small ; 

That  will  not  kowtow  to  riches,  nor  down  in  the  gutter 
crawl. 

I  want  to  write  for  a  paper  that  isn  't  allied  with  crime ; 


KIDDIES     SIX  141 

That  isn't  crammed  with  sensations,   and  murder,   and 

filth,  and  slime. 

I  want  to  report  for  a  paper  that  isn't  a  bit  afraid 
To  use  the  clearest  of  English,  and  call  every  spade  a 

spade. 

I  want  to   see  my  name  written  upon  the   assignment 

book 

Of  a  paper  that  has  vigor  to  camp  on  th'  trail  of  a  crook. 
No  matter  how  high  his  station,  no  matter  the  price  he 

bids, 
And  put  him  in  stripes  like  the  poor  cuss  who  steals  the 

grub  for  his  kids. 

I  want  to  be  a  reporter  on  just  such  a  daily  as  that — 
A  paper  that  isn't  an  "organ,"  and  scorn  to  divvy  the 

"fat." 
Under  a  chief  who  orders:    "You  chase  out  and  gather 

the  facts!" 
And   gives  us   all   assurance   no   corporate   thug  wields 

an  ax. 

I  want  to  work  on  a  paper  that  hasn  't  a  single  ' '  string ; ' ' 
That  always  stands  for  the  people  instead  of  some  cor- 
porate thing. 

A  sheet  that  tells  advertisers  it  has  no  favors  to  sell — 
If  they  don't  like  its  position  to  take  their  ads  straight 

to  Gahenna! 

I  want  to  be  on  a  paper  that  has  the  courage  to  strike 
At  every  doer  of  evil — to  which  all  thieves  look  alike. 
A  paper  that  helps  the  helpless;  holds  back  the  arm  of 

the  strong 

"Who  seek  to  take  toll  of  the  children,  or  reap  a  harvest 
from  wrong. 

I  want  a  job  on  that  daily;  any  assignment  or  "run;" 


142  KIDDIES     SIX 

And  told  to  write  things  as  I  find  them,  proving  my  facts 

when  done. 
To  show  up  thieves  in  high  places,  as  well  as  the  thieves 

in  low; 
To  turn  the  light  on  big  grafters,  and  give  poor  devils 

a  show. 

I  long  to  be  on  such  a  paper — I  dream  of  a  time  I  am — 
And  given  my  orders  to  show  up  all  manner  of  graft 

and  sham. 
Not  here  on  this  earth  may  I  find  it — it's  my  firmest 

belief 
'Twill  only  be  in  heaven,  with  Gabriel  Editor-in-Chief. 


WITHIN   THE   WEEK 

The  drumhead  is  busted,  the  trumpet  is  battered, 

The  wagon  is  crippled,  the  dishes  are  shattered. 

The   Christmas  tree's  down  and  the   bright   decoration 

Is  scattered  and  flung  over  all  of  creation. 

The  dolly  is  headless,  and  poor  Jumping  Jack 

Is  nursing  in  silence  his  poor  broken  back. 

The  Mother  Goose  rhymes  have  been  worn  into  pulp, 

And  naught  of  the  candy  is  left  now  to  gulp. 

The  candles  have  burned  to  a  faint  spot  of  grease, 

And  over  the  house  there  is  silence  and  peace. 

But  what  if  the  toys  and  the  books  are  destroyed? 

Just  think  of  the  hours  the  children  enjoyed 

The  gay  Christmas  toys  that  were  hung  on  the  tree, 

Just  think  of  the  week  full  of  infantile  glee. 

It's  enough  to  repay  all  the  trouble  and  cost, 

For  the  joy  that  we  gave  them  can  never  be  lost. 

'Twas  a  week  of  great  gladness  we'll  never  forget — 

And  we  '11  do  it  next  Christmas — on  that  you  can  bet. 


KIDDIES     SIX  143 

"HANDS  ACROSS  THE  BORDER" 

[Verses  read  at  banquet  tendered  by  Toronto  Typo- 
graphical Union  No.  90  to  visiting  printer  delegates  to 
American  Federation  of  Labor  convention,  November  13.] 


O,  it's  hands  across  the  border,  and  it's  hands  across  the 
sea! 

"God  Save  the  King"  you're  singing;  we  "My  Country 
'Tis  of  Thee." 

Blood  is  thicker  e'er  than  water,  and  we  know  what 
friendship  means 

For  we've  tried  each  other's  mettle — Lundy's  Lane  and 
Ne\v  Orleans. 

So  we  clasp  our  hands  like  brothers  as  we  press  the  for- 
ward track, 

While  Old  Glory  waves  and  ripples  by  the  side  of  Union 
Jack. 

O,  it's  hand  across  the  border,  and  it's  hands  across  the 
sea! 

For  we've  learned  to  know  each  other  in  our  wars  for 
liberty. 

And  where'er  you  see  those  banners  waving  'neath  the 
vaulted  dome 

Yo^  will  always  find  true  fighters  for  the  cause  of  right 
and  home. 

By  the  old  Star  Spangled  Banner  and  the  Red  Cross  of 
St.  George 

We  have  welded  stoutest  friendships  in  the  fires  of  Free- 
dom's forge. 

O,  it's  hands  across  the  border,  and  it's  hands  across  the 

sea! 
"Rule  Britannia!"    "Yankee  Doodle!"    "Home,   Sweet 

Home"  where'er  we  be. 


144  KIDDIES     SIX 

And  we  carry  Freedom's  banner    'round  the  girdle  of 

the  earth 
Till  in  ev'ry  heart  and  conscience  love  of  liberty  has 

birth. 
So  it's  hands  across  the  border,  and  it's  hands  across  the 

sea, 
While  "God  Save  the  King"  you're  singing,  we  "My 

Country  'Tis  of  Thee." 


ALL  RIGHT! 

"Waste  of  time  to  whimper  when  you  see  things  going 

wrong ; 
For  that's  the  time  a  fellow  should  be  coming  good  and 

strong. 
And  it's  not  wise  to  be  sobbing  if  your  plans  cease  going 

right — 
That's   the   time   to   roll  your   sleeves  up   and   proceed 

straightway  to  fight. 
Everything  that's  worth  the  winning  is  worth  fighting 

for  to  get, 
And  if  you  will  keep  on  fighting  you'll  be  happy  yet, 

you  bet. 
Every  somber   cloud   that   hovers   has   its   silver   lining 

bright 
So  just  keep  a  going,  brother,  confident  that  all  is  right. 

Rainy  days  may  cause  you  trouble,  but  don't  waste  your 

time  in  sighs; 
Just  recall  the  bow  of  promise  God  has  set  upon  the 

skies. 
Meet   reverses  in   your   fortunes   with   a   strong   man's 

cheerful  laugh 


KIDDIES     SIX  145 

And  you'll  find  them  shrink  before  you  till  they  measure 

less  than  half. 
Only  cowards  sit  repining  when  they  fail  to  win  the 

game; 
Only  cowards  try  to  shoulder  on  the  world  the  weight 

of  blame. 
Roll  your  sleeves  up  to  your  elbows,  then  pitch  in  with 

all  your  might 
With  determination  steady  that  you'll  win  out  yet,  all 

right. 

Don't  you  try  to  trouble  trouble  till  old  trouble  troubles 

you, 
Then  just  face  it  fairly,  squarely,  and  to  trouble  say, 

"Skidoo!" 
Don't  fret  over  opposition — kites  must  fly  against  the 

wind — 
You  will  win  out  if  on  justice  all  your  hopes  are  safely 

pinned. 

Do  the  duty  lying  nearest,  and  be  sure  you  do  your  best, 
Yours  is  but  to  do  your  duty,  God  will  take  care  of  the 

rest. 
You  may  think  success  is  often  hidden  far  away  from 

sight, 
But  the  doing  brings  the  winning — everything  will  come 

out  right. 


JUNE    TIME 

Singin'  o'  June,  when  the  roses  blow; 
Liltin'  a  song  when  the  sun  hangs  low; 

Whistlin'  away 

Through  th'  livelong  day — 
Singin'  an'  whistlin'  a  merry  tune 
To  the  rosiest  month  of  them  all — that's  June. 


146  KIDDIES     SIX 

Watchin'  the  clouds  as  they  hasten  by, 
Catchin'  the  gleam  of  the  bright  blue  sky; 

Lazyin'  'round 

On  th'  sun-kissed  ground — 

Hearin'  th'  wind  through  the  woodland  croon 
Her  songs  to  the  rarest  of  months — that's  June. 

Off  through  th'  meadows  cool  an'  sweet, 
Where  th'  violets  bloom  in  their  dim  retreat; 

Dreamin'  dreams 

By  the  purlin'  streams, 
As  they  hasten  by  with  their  rythmic  rune 
To  the  rosiest,  fairest  month — that's  June. 

Home  at  eve  when  the  moon  hangs  low 

And  the  sky  gleams  bright  with  a  silver  glow; 

Just  lazyin'  there 

In  the  old  arm  chair 

A  watchin'  th'  man  who  lives  in  th'  moon 
And  laughs  at  th '  fairest  of  months — that 's  June. 


OLD   HOME   DAY 

[Verses  read  at  the  "Old  Home  Day"  celebration  in 
Oregon,  Mo.,  Tuesday,  July  27,  1909.] 


From  thy  fold  long  since  departed,  wand 'ring  far  from 

sea  to  sea, 
Yet  in  all  our  far-flung  journeys,  back  our  hearts  have 

turned  to  thee. 
Unto  thee,   O  old  home   city,   nestling    'twixt   thy  hills 

green-walled, 
And  we  hastened  back  to  answer  when  the  Old  Home's 

voices  called. 


KIDDIES     SIX  147 

Back  to  scenes  of  youth  and  playtime ;  back  to  memories 

sublime, 
Throwing  from   our  ageing   shoulders   burdens   laid   by 

passing  time. 
As  the  child  heart  turns  to  mother,  so  our  hearts  turn 

unto  thee 
When   we   hear  your   sweet   tones   calling,    "Come,    my 

children,  back  to  me!" 

From  the  flower-decked  prairies,  from  the  busy  market 

place, 
We  have  hurried  at  thy  summons  with  glad  smiles  upon 

each  face. 
Plow,  and  pen,  and  plane,  and  hammer  for  a  time  are 

given  rest 
While  we,  tired  and  wand 'ring  children,  lay  our  heads 

upon  thy  breast. 

Old  Home  Day !    And  all  thy  children  gathered  'neath  the 

old  roof-tree, 
Singing   songs   of  sweet  home   coming,   paying   homage 

unto  thee. 
And  the  years   are  all  forgotten,  while  the  now  fades 

into  then 
Till  we  grown-up  men  and  women  are  but  boys  and  girls 

again. 

Hark!  The  old  school  bell  is  calling;  grasp  thy  books 
and  haste  away; 

Laughing,  singing,  happy  children;  back  again  to  yester- 
day. 

Memory  sweeps  aside  Time's  curtain,  waves  aloft  her 
magic  wand, 

And  we  trip  o'er  Russell's  pasture,  wander  down  to 
Kunkel's  pond. 


148  KIDDIES     SIX 

Light  of  heart,  care  free  and  happy,  once  again  we  gaily 
go 

O'er  the  hills  and  through  the  valleys  to  the  Big  Tark's 
muddy  flow. 

Through  the  hazel  patch  we  wander,  on  beneath  the  wal- 
nut trees, 

While  the  echoes  of  our  laughter  freight  the  far-flung 
summer  breeze. 

Home  again!     And  all  the  strivings  of  the  long  years 

are  forgot 
As  we  join  in  glad  reunion  'round  the  Old  Home 's  sacred 

spot. 
Hand  clasps  hand,  and  friendly  greeting  bids  the  years' 

long  cycle  turn 
Back  to  other  days  where   altars  of  our  youth's  fires 

brightly  burn. 

Home  again!     0  scenes  of  playtime!   Memories  sweet  of 

days  long  dead ! 
Back  to  thee,  0  dear  home  city,  gathered  in  thy  arms 

outspread. 

And  where'er  the  future  calls  us,  over  land  or  over  sea, 
We  shall  hear  thy  loved  voice  calling,  dear  Old  Oregon, 

to  thee! 


OPPORTUNITY 

I'd  like  to  hustle  out  and  do  some  grand,  heroic  deed; 

Some  daring  deed  that  all  the  world  would  cheer. 
I'd  like  to  fight  a  naval  fight,  or  conquering  army  lead 

For  truth  and  right  till  tyrants  quaked  with  fear. 
I'd  like  to  do  great  things  like  that  and  be  a  noted  man, 

But  as  I  can't,  I'm  not  a  going  to  cry. 
I'm  going  to  keep  on  smiling,  doing  just  the  best  I  can 

To  smooth  the  rougher  places  I  pass  by. 


KIDDIES     SIX  149 

I'd  like  to  lead  an  army  into  some  old  king's  domain 

Where  people  groan  beneath  a  tyrant 's  sway ; 
I  'd  like  to  punch  his  blooming  head  and  sever  ev  'ry  chain 

And  make  his  people  glad  I  came  that  way. 
But  I  know  I'll  never  do  it,  for  the  job's  too  big  for  me, 

Though  you  can  bet  I'll  not  sit  down  and  sigh. 
Perhaps  some  lonely  brother  sitting  by  the  road  I'll  see, 

And  I  can  cheer  him  up  while  passing  by. 

I'd  like  to  be  commander  of  some  modern  battleships 

And  sweep  my  country's  foes  from  off  the  sea. 
I'd  like  to  hear  the  plaudits  from  a  grateful  people's 
lips 

When  I  returned  with  news  of  victory. 
But  what's  the  use  of  wishing?    I'm  a  little  undersize 

To  tackle  such  a  job,  but  I  can  try 
To  lighten  up  the  burden  which  upon  my  brother  lies, 

And  help  him  on  a  bit  while  passing  by. 

The  world  is  full  of  people  who  are  waiting  for  a  chance 

To  do  some  wondrous  deed  to  bring  them  fame. 
And  while  they're  idly  waiting  with  their  minds  locked 
in  a  trance 

They  grumble  that  the  world  don't  hear  their  name. 
I,  too,  would  like  the  glory  of  some  grand,  heroic  deed; 

But  I'll  not  waste  my  time  in  idle  sigh. 
Perhaps  upon  life's  journey  I  will  see  a  friend  .in  need, 

And  I  can  help  him  some  while  passing  by. 


THE   CALL 

I'm  weary  of  toiling  and  worry, 
Of  living  the  strenuous  life; 

I  tire  of  the  struggle  and  hurry, 

The  tumult,  the  noise,  and  the  strife. 

I  long  for  a  sight  of  the  flowers, 
The  song  of  the  murmuring  stream ; 


150  KIDDIES     SIX 

I  long  for  the  forests  where  hours 
Will  pass  like  the  woof  of  a  dream. 

I'm  weary  of  plotting  and  scheming 

That  lay  out  the  map  of  the  game ; 
I'm  tired  of  make-believe  seeming 

That  oft  is  mistaken  for  fame. 
I  long  for  the  lake  and  the  river 

That  shimmer  and  shine  in  the  sun; 
Where  leaves  in  the  warm  breezes  quiver, 

And  rest  is  the  goal  I  have  won. 

I'm  weary  of  sepulchres  whited 

That  harbor  but  moldy  old  bones; 
I  see  childish  toil  unrequited 

And  listen  to  widowhood 's  moans. 
I  long  for  the  day  to  be  dawning 

When  right  with  the  sceptre  shall  reign; 
When  men  now  at  Mammon's  feet  fawning 

Will  rise  in  their  manhood  again. 

I'm  weary  of  false  prophets  crying 

Their  wicked,  inscrutable  lies ; 
While  thousands  of  helpless  are  dying 

As  Mammon's  and  Greed's  sacrifice. 
I  long  for  the  day  and  the  hour 

When  Greed  shall  be  flung  from  the  throne; 
When  man  in  his  right  and  his  power 

Again  shall  step  into  his  own. 

I'm  weary,  but  duty  is  calling, 

And  only  the  sluggard  will  shirk; 
The  tasks  that  are  set  appalling, 

But  honor  says  simply,  ' '  Go  work ! ' ' 
I  long  for  the  woods  in  their  beauty, 

But  over  the  call  that  they  give 
I  hear  the  stern  calling  of  duty 

That  bids  me  be  worthy  to  live. 


KIDDIES     SIX  151 

JOYS   0'   WINTER 

When  the  corn  is  cribbed  in  safety  and  the  ducks  are 
flying  high, 

And  the  dead  leaves  thickly  falling  tells  us  winter  draw- 
eth  nigh; 

When  the  snow-clouds  gray  and  sombre  fly  athwart  the 
autumn  skies — 

Then  our  mouths  begin  to  water  for  the  mince  and  pump- 
kin pies. 

"When  the  frost  is  on  the  pumpkin  and  the  fodder's  in 
the  shock." 

It's  a  joy  to  hear  the  notice  that  it's  half-past  six 
o  'clock — 

Six  p.  m.,  of  course  we're  meaning — and  we  rush  to  seize 
the  prize, 

Juicy  slabs  of  mother's  pastry,  good  old  mince  and  pump- 
kin pies. 

All  the  Frenchified  concoctions  on  the  high  toned  bill 

of  fare 
We'll  pass  up  in  scorn  and  leave  them  to  their  glory 

lying  there, 

For  at  home  upon  the  table  is  a  sight  to  please  our  eyes 
And  our  stomachs — fat  and  juicy  homemade  mince  and 

pumpkin  pies. 

Old  Lucullus,  history  tells  us,  ate  the  tongues  of  nightin- 
gales, 

But  such  food  before  ma's  pastry  into  airy  nothing  pales. 

And  I  know  that  old  Lucullus  from  his  tomb  would  fain 
arise 

If  he  knew  the  joys  abiding  in  those  mince  and  pumpkin 
pies. 


152  KIDDIES     SIX 

Course  the  first,   a  slice  of  pumpkin;  second  course   a 

slice  of  mince ; 
Third  and  fourth  a  repetition — nothing  better  I've  seen 

since. 
Breakfast,  dinner,  supper,   'tween  times — nothing  better 

'neath  the  skies 
Than  these  choicest  gifts  of  winter,  lucious  mince  and 

pumpkin  pies. 

"When  the  mince  is  gently  boiling  and  the  oven's  piping 

hot, 
When  the  piecrust  is  made   ready   and  the  pumpkin's 

in  the  pot; 
I  prepare  myself  for  feasting — greatest  joy  before  me 

lies 
In  the  shape   of  rich  and  juicy  homemade  mince   and 

pumpkin  pies. 


BEFORE   AND   AFTER 

Sometimes  I'd  like  to  seize  my  pen* 
And  roundly  roast  my  fellowmen; 
To  roast  'em  to  the  good  queen's  taste, 
And  baste  and  turn,  and  turn  and  baste. 
I  feel  that  if  I  don't  turn  loose 
And  fairly  cook  some  fellow's  goose 
I'm  not  performing  well  my  work, 
But  rather  am  inclined  to  shirk. 

But  just  when  I  am  feeling  mean 
And  start  to  thump  this  old  machine, 
Some  friend  comes  stalking  in  my  den 
And  lights  it  with  a  smile;  and  then 
He  says :    ' '  Hello ! "  and  "  Howdy-do ! 


KIDDIES     SIX  163 

How's  this  old  world  a  using  you?" 
And  then  my  grouch  is  gone  from  sight 
And  I  am  feeling  right,  all  right. 

Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  am  slack 
If  I  don't  rip  things  up  the  back; 
That  I  should  paw  the  air  and  rant, 
And  race  and  roar  and  fairly  pant 
In  mighty  effort  to  command 
A  remedy  for  wrongs  at  hand. 
It  seems  to  me  I  have  a  chance 
To  make  all  evildoers  dance. 

But  just  about  that  time  I  see 

A  laughing  baby  on  my  knee. 

I  feel  a  tiny  hand's  caress; 

The  touch  of  dimpled  cheeks  that  bless — 

And  then  it's  "Mr.  Grouch  goodbye!" 

For  in  another  minute  I 

Am  quite  content  to  sit  and  smile 

And  leave  the  "roasts"  for  afterwhile. 


*Poet's  license — I  use  a  typewriting  machine. 


A    PROBLEM   WORTH    WHILE 

He  has  tackled  divers  questions 

"With  assurance  great  to  view, 
From  preserving  our  digestions, 

Up  to  how  big  game  pursue. 
He  has  done  work  literary 

With  an  air  of  honest  pride, 
And  has  writ  in  manner  cheery 

All  about  race  suicide. 


154  KIDDIES     SIX 

Of  canals  and  arbitration, 

And  of  income  taxes,  too; 
Of  the  freight  glut  situation 

And  the  right  course  to  pursue 
To  make  railroads  come  to  center, 

Or  to  back  up  old  Monroe — 
To  be  brief  he  is  a  Mentor 

Knowing  all  that  men  can  know. 

But  he  has  his  limitations 

Just  like  any  other  man. 
He  can't  solve  some  situations 

'Cause  no  human  mortal  can. 
Vainly  would  he  wilt  his  collar 

If  he  faced  the  problem  great 
How  to  make  a  single  dollar 

Feed   and  clothe   a  bunch   of  eight. 


BRACE   UP! 

When  you're  feeling  rather  blue 
And  the  sledding's  hard  with  you; 
When  your  schemes  go  up  the  spout 
And  you're  feeling  down  and  out; 
When  you've  shot  and  scored  a  miss- 
Brace  up  and  remember  this : 
Those  who  win  are  those  who  try. 
So  brace  up  and  don't  say  die. 

Swell  your  chest  and  try  again; 
Grit  your  teeth  and  smile  at  pain. 
Tackle  trouble  with  a  laugh 
And  you'll  cut  the  dose  in  half. 
Look  the  world  square  in  the  eye ; 
Buck  the  line  and  don't  say  die, 
Laying  down  is  all  the  shame — 
Sit  straight  up  and  play  the  game. 


KIDDIES     SIX  155 

Don't  dodge  trouble — if  you  do 
It  will  doubly  trouble  you. 
Meet  each  task  with  grit  and  vim, 
Do  the  square  thing,  sink  or  swim. 
If  you  see  hard  luck  draw  nigh 
Laugh  again  and  don't  say  die. 
Keep  your  face  turned  to  the  light, 
Do  your  best  and  you're  all  right. 


"SKIDDOO!" 

If  trouble  comes  a  snooping  'round 

And  tries  to  harrow  up  your  soul, 

Don't  let  it  force  you  to  the  course 

Of  seeking  solace  in  the  bowl. 
Don 't  let  it  pass  in  through  your  door, 
But  make  it  hike  off  down  the  road. 
Just  whistle  up  and  smile  some  more, 
And  tell  old  Trouble  to  be  blowed. 
Just  say  when  Trouble  comes  in  view; 

"  'Skiddoo,' 

That  will  be  '23' 

For  you!" 

If  Mother  Gossip  calls  to  tell 

Some  bit  of  scandal  she  has  heard 
About  a  friend  whom  you  love  well, 

Don't  listen  to  a  single  word. 
Don't  let  her  winks  and  nods  and  grins 

And  nasty  hints  lead  you  astray. 
The  moment  she  her  tale  begins 

Just  you  rise  up  and  gently  say: 
' '  I  know  my  friend  is  straight  and  true — 

'Skiddoo!' 

That  will  be  '23' 

For  you!" 


156  KIDDIES     SIX 

When  some  man  with  a  scheme  for  graft 

Begins  to  talk  in  dulcet  style 
Of  guarding  this  old  nation's  craft 

Safe  from  the  reefs  of  greed  and  guile, 
Don't  be  deceived.     In  Ninety-six 

You  heard  that  plea  from  men  who  stand 
Convicted  of  the  meanest  tricks 

That  blot  the  history  of  our  land. 
Just  say,  when  such  men  come  to  view: 

"  'Skiddoo!' 

That  will  be  '23' 

For  you!" 

To  greedy  trusts  and  selfish  men, 

To  all  who  thrive  on  unjust  laws; 
To  greed,  no  matter  where  or  when, 

And  all  who  scorn  the  people's  cause; 
To  those  who  scatter  tears  of  woe 

And  rob  the  widow  of  her  all, 
Give  battle  now,  and  boldly  go 

To  fight  for  right,  to  stand  or  fall. 
Speak  out  in  tones  sincere  and  true: 

"  'Skiddoo!' 

That  will  be  '23' 

For  you ! ' ' 


"MAKING    GOOD" 

The  fellow  who  hurries  and  worries  and  flurries, 

And  rushes  and  gushes  and  rants ; 
Who  chases  and  races  through  all  public  places, 

With  eyes  ever  on  the  main  chance, 
Will  blunder,  then  wonder  when  he  has  gone  under, 

Why  he  all  the  shocks  never  stood. 
But  he  failed,  for  he  paled  and  he  quivered  and  quailed, 

When  it  came  to  the  test — "Making  good." 


KIDDIES     SIX  157 

The  halter  and  trimmer  may  catch  a  faint  glimmer 

Of  smiles  and  of  wiles  of  Dame  Chance. 
In  his  dreaming  and  scheming  may  catch  a  faint  gleaming, 

Of  a  goal  that  his  eyes  will  entrance. 
But  he  pales  and  he  quails,  and  his  energy  fails, 

And  he  couldn't  win  out  if  he  would; 
For  he  sighs  and  he  cries  at  the  vanishing  prize 

When  it  comes  to  the  test — "Making  good." 

The  fellow  who's  ready  and  sturdy  and  steady; 

"Who  hustles  and  rustles  and  learns; 
Acts  honestly,  fairly,  uprightly  and  squarely— 

That  fellow  success  quickly  earns. 
Let  him  win  it — that  minute  he  will  be  strictly  in  it, 

And  meet  every  test  as  he  should. 
He  will  work  like  a  Turk,  and  a  duty  ne'er  shirk, 

And  go  right  ahead  "Making  good." 


THE  MAN  WHO  MAKES  THE  STATE 

He  had  never  gone   through  college,   and  his  store   of 

varied  knowledge 

Was  accumulated  wholly  by  the  hardest  kind  of  knocks. 
He  had  never  led  cotillions  and  inherited  no  millions, 
.  But  he  had  to  steer  his  vessel  by  some  sharp  financial 

rocks. 
In  the  world  of  stock  inflation  he  had  neither  part  nor 

station, 
And  he  never  posed  as  champion  of  nation's  honor 

bright. 
But  each  day  it  was  his  pleasure  to  contribute  humble 

measure 

Of   the   honest    toil   which   blesses    and    which    keeps 
things  moving  right. 


158  KIDDIES     SIX 

In  the  world  of  huge  stock  jobbing,  planned  for  purposes 
of  robbing, 

He  had  neither  part  nor  parcel,  and  he  had  no  tariff 

graft. 

No  press  agents  he  kept  writing,  gifts  to  colleges  in- 
dicting, 

To   keep   blazing   his   cognomen    on   some   bronze    or 

marble  shaft. 

In  coal  oil  and  lubrication  he  had  neither  part  nor  sta- 
tion, 

And  he  never  claimed  trusteeship,  like  the  sainted  Mr. 
Baer. 

But  each  day,  sunshine  or  raining,  ev'ry  energy  was 
straining 

To  treat  ev'ry  fellow  being  that  he  met  upon  the  square. 

In  his  meek  and  humble  station  he  had  some  participation 

In  politics  which  stirred  up  quite  a  lot  of  heated  strife. 

But  he  thought  his  thoughts  and  voted  after  each  claim 

had  been  noted, 
And  he  acted  as  he  thought  best  for  the  nation's  better 

life. 
Press    dispatches    never    touted,    of    his    charity    ne'er 

spouted, 
And  among  the  swell  "400"  he  had  neither  part  nor 

place. 

But  each  day,  no  duty  shirking,  he  put  in  at  honest  work- 
ing, 

And  he  ate  his  bread  in  comfort  in  the  sweat  upon 
his  face. 


KIDDIES     SIX  159 

THE   STRIKE 

Bill  Simpkins  wuz  a  worker,  somewhere 's  near  'bout  6 

o'clock, 
Sittin'  'round  the  grocery  fire,  where  he'd  talk,  and  talk, 

and  talk. 
'Lowd  that  he  could   'complish  wonders   'ith  th'  cradle 

an'  th  plow, 
An'  said  maybe,  if  chance  offered,  he  would  surely  show 

us  how. 
But  when  asked  to  give  a  reason  fur  his  lazy,  shiftless 

ways 

0'  jus'  never  doin'  nothin'  but  a  wastin'  ov  his  days, 
Bill  would  blink  his  eyes  a  minnit  then  would  say  as 

if  surprised, 

"I'm  a  waitin',  boys,  on  congress,  f'r  I  must  be  subsi- 
dized. 

"What's  the  use  o'  takin'  chances?"  Bill  would  ask  in 

anxious  tones. 
"What's  th'  use  o'  wastin'  muscle  or  a  rackin'  ov  yer 

bones?" 
Then  he'd  settle  back  a  grinnin'  in  th'  ol'  splint-bottomed 

chair, 
One  hand  reachin'  out  f'r  crackers,  tother  mussin'  up 

his  hair. 
An'  next  day  he'd  keep  a  loafin'  an'  th'  rest  of  us  would 

sweat 
F'r  th'  clothes  that  we  wuz  wearin'  an'  th'  little  that 

we  et. 
"  'Taint  no  use  o'  workin'  that  way,"  "William  Simpkins 

he  surmised; 

"Send  pertitions  down  t'  congress  an'  we'll  all  git  sub- 
sidized." 


160  KIDDIES     SIX 

An'  at  last  we  got  t'  thinkin'  that  perhaps  ol'  Bill  was 
right, 

An'  we  made  up  a  committee  f'r  t'  try  an'  furnish  light 

On  this  thing  that  Bill  had  mentioned,  an'  it  wasn't  very 
long 

Till  we  found  him  right,  by  hector,  an'  th'  rest  ov  us 
wuz  wrong. 

An'  we  all  just  took  t'  loafin';  nary  load  o'  grain  we'd 
haul 

'Cause  we  knowed  it  didn't  pay  us,  an'  we  didn't  work  at 
all. 

An'  we're  goin'  t'  keep  on  loafin'  till  the  country's  para- 
lyzed 

Or  our  trusty  old  farm  wagons,  like  th'  ships,  is  sub- 
sidized. 


WHEN   WASHINGTON   WAS   HERE 

When  "Washington  was  president 

'Twas  evident 

That  he  was  bent 
On  something  more  than  cent  per  cent — 

A  fact  recalled  with  pride. 
But  since  the  "Washingtonian  day 

A  different  way 

Came  into  play 

To  flourish  like  the  flowers  in  May, 
And  courts  of  law  deride. 

They  had  no  trust  bituminous 

Or  luminous, 

Consumin'  us; 
They  had  no  beef  trust  doomin'  us 

"When  "Washington  was  here. 
They  had  no  trust  in  laundry  soap, 


KIDDIES     SIX  161 

Or  twine  and  rope, 
To  crush  all  hope; 
They  had  no  foodstuff  full  of  dope 
In  George's  day  and  year. 

They  had  no  trust  in  lead  and  steel, 

Or  fancy  wheel 

To  make  us  squeal; 
They  didn't  "soak"  the  commonweal 

When  Washington  was  here. 
They  had  no  trust  in  anthracite, 

Electric  light 

Or  cotton  white ; 

They  had  no  courts  to  make  wrong  right 
In  George's  day  and  year. 

They  had  no  trust  to  soak  'em  good 

When  buying  wood 

Because  it  could; 
Such  things  they  never  would  have  stood 

When  Washington  was  here. 
They  had  no  big  insurance  rings 

A  running  things 

Their  way,  b'jings, 
No  Hyde,  or  Schwab  or  Corey  flings 
In  George's  day  and  year. 

They  had  no  senate  full  of  tools 

Obeying  rules 

Like  docile  mules; 
No  monied  men  were  bribing  schools 

When  Washington  was  here. 
They  had  no  giant  trusts  in  hides, 

No  free  pass  rides, 

No  shoddy  snides; 
No  shipping  trust  to  boom  besides, 
In  George's  day  and  year. 


162  KIDDIES     SIX 

Some  wondrous  changes  have  been  wrought 

Since  Georgie  fought 

And  freedom  brought 
To  all  mankind  in  speech  and  thought — 

Which  fact  you  can't  deny. 
The  trusts  have  got  us  in  their  grip, 

They  smile  and  whip 

Us  thigh  and  hip, 

And  trust-made  laws  won't  let  us  slip — 
And  yet  you  wonder  why. 


THE  BRIGHT  SIDE 

Things  a-lookin'  rather  blue? 
All  the  world  a  bit  askew? 
Then,  my  friend,  it's  up  to  you 
Just  to  hustle  out  and  do 

Something  worth  the  while. 
Wipe  the  tears  from  out  your  eye ; 
Things  will  get  worse  if  you  cry; 
Seek  the  paths  where  roses  lie ; 
There  is  every  reason  why 

You  should  wear  a  smile. 

Though  the  clouds  are  dark  to  view, 
Still  behind  the  sky  is  blue, 
And  the  sun  will  soon  shine  through 
With  his  golden  gleams  on  you 

If  you  work  away. 
Though  the  day  be  dark  and  drear, 
What's  the  use  to  quake  in  fear? 
Wipe  away  that  idle  tear. 
Look  to  see  the  dawning  clear 

Of  a  brighter  day. 


KIDDIES     SIX  163 

Locked  within  their  icy  tomb 
Are  the  flowers  of  springtime's  bloom; 
In  good  time  they'll  light  the  gloom, 
Scent  the  air  with  sweet  perfume 

As  you  trudge  along. 
Life  is  always  what  it's  made, 
Why  should  you,  then,  be  dismayed? 
Keep  on  going,  unafraid, 
Every  doubt  can  be  allayed 

With  a  cheerful  song. 

Keep  on  working  with  a  will; 
Tackle  e'en  the  steepest  hill; 
Bid  each  doubt  and  fear  be  still 
And  each  day  with  duty  fill — 

Duty  noble  done. 
Try  again  if  once  you  fail; 
At  one  ill-success  don't  rail; 
Bravely  face  life's  fiercest  gale; 
Don't  sit  down  to  weep  and  wail — 

Thus  success  is  won. 


THE    STRIKING    DIFFERENCE 

He  struck  for  decent  wages  and  was  promptly  thrown 

in  jail 
When  he  gently  smote  a  "scab"  upon  the  head. 

And  his  union  was  berated  and  its  principles  assailed; 
It  was  called  a  place  where  anarchy  is  bred. 

Jam  the  fellow  into  prison !    Keep  him  there  until  he  rots ! 
He  disturbs  the  even  tenor  of  our  ways. 

He  would  form  a  trust  in  labor!    Perish  all  such  horrid 

thoughts-- 
Keep such  anarchists  in  prison  all  their  days! 

Call  the  troops  and  call  the  sheriff; 


164  KIDDIES     SIX 

Call  the  judge  and  get  a  writ! 

Show  the  common  working  devil 

He  must  keep  his  proper  level- 
That 's  it! 

He  cornered  wheat  and  doubled  up  the  price  on  flour  and 

bread, 

And  saw  starvation  spread  on  ev'ry  side. 
Hungry  children  cried  for  supper,  want  and  misery  were 

spread 

While  he  quickly  garnered  in  the  golden  tide. 
Hail  the  great  financial  captain !    Hail  the  King  of  Golden 

Wheat ! 

Bow  in  honor  to  this  wonder  worker's  mind. 
He  has  piled  up  added  millions  and  his  corner  is  complete ; 
As  a  plunger  he 's  the  king  pin  of  his  kind. 

Bring  the  royal  robes  of  purple, 

Let  the  dancing  girls  be  brought. 
On  him  royal  roses  shower 
As  a  tribute  to  his  power — 

That's  what! 

If  in  sheerest  desperation  he  protects  his  little  flock 

By  the  theft  of  but  a  single  loaf  of  bread, 
Clasp  the  handcuffs  tight  upon  him,  thrust  him  in  the 
prison  dock; 

Fling  the  curses  of  the  righteous  at  his  head ! 
But  if  by  manipulation  he  depletes  the  widow's  store, 

If  by  cunning  he  can  mint  her  tears  of  gold ; 
If  he  profits  by  the  burdens  he  imposes  on  the  poor 

We  must  hail  him  as  a  man  of  business  bold. 

Thrust  the  small  thief  into  prison! 

For  the  big  thief  praises  sing! 
Workers,  keep  your  proper  station, 
Board  of  Trade  men  rule  the  nation — 

Sure  thing! 


KIDDIES     SIX  165 

HOMEWARD    BOUND 

The  fleet  is  sailing  home  again;  it's  crossed  the  Seven 

Seas; 
Old   Glory   from   each   battleship   swings   out   upon   the 

breeze. 
The  stars  have  shown  in  ev'ry  port,  it's  stripes  of  white 

and  red 
Have  lighted  many  a  foreign  port  as  round  the  world 

it  sped. 
The  nations  of  the  earth  have  seen  the  flag  we  love  the 

best — 
The  fleet  has  borne  it   round  the  world  from   out  the 

Golden  West. 
And  now  the  ships  that  carried  it  are  on  the  homeward 

tack; 

So  three  times  three !  And  once  again — the  fleet  is  com- 
ing back. 

Our  bands  played  "Dixie"  in  Japan,  and  "Hail  Colum- 
bia," too. 

On  China's  shores  they've  played  the  strains  of  old 
"Red,  White  and  Blue." 

"Hot  Time"  they  played  on  India's  shores,  and  on  Egypt- 
ian sands 

"Star  Spangled  Banner's"  glorious  strains  came  ringing 
from  the  bands. 

Twas  "Yankee  Doodle"  for  John  Bull— he'd  heard  the 
strains  before 

As  shrilled  from  fife  and  rolled  from  drums  above  the 
cannon's  roar. 

But  now  the  fleet  is  come  back  across  Atlantic's  foam, 

And  all  the  men  sing  while  the  bands  are  playing  "Home, 
Sweet  Home." 

The  fleet  is  homeward  bound  again;  the  flag  is  coming 
back. 


166  KIDDIES     SIX 

The  ships  have  circled  round  the  earth;  they're  on  the 

homeward  tack. 

From  Occident  to  Orient,  wherever  ships  may  ride, 
They've  borne  aloft  Old  Glory's  folds,  they've  been  our 

boast  and  pride. 
Brave   Lawrence   looks   down   from   aloft'  and   watches 

ev'ry  day; 
And  Foote,  and  Jones,   and  Farragut — they   guard  the 

homeward  way. 
The  old  sea  heroes  watch  the  course  across  the  raging 

main — 
So  three  times  three !    And  then  once  more — the  fleet  is 

home  again! 


THE  DAY  AFTER 

"Licked  to  a  frazzle!"    But,  say, 

What  is  the  use  of  repining? 
Home  at  the  close  of  the  day — 

Arms  of  our  loved  ones  entwining. 
Out  of  the  fret  and  the  worry, 

Out  of  the  din  and  the  strife ; 
Out  of  the  battle  and  worry — 

Home  and  the  joytime  of  life. 

Downed  in  the  battle !    But,  say, 

What  is  the  profit  in  sorrow? 
Love  is  still  lighting  the  way 

On   to   a   glorious   morrow. 
Out  of  the  turmoil  and  fuming, 

Out  of  the  worry  and  wiles, 
Love  with  its  welcome  is  looming, 

Beckoning  on  with  its  smiles. 


KIDDIES     SIX  167 

Whipped  to  a  standstill!     But,  say, 

Still  there  is  joy  in  the  losing 
If  love  binds  the  wounds  of  the  fray 

After  the  battle's  confusing. 
Out  of  the  smoke  and  the  rattle, 

After  the  heat  of  the  fray; 
After  the  din  of  the  battle, 

Love  lights  the  close  of  the  day. 


SMILE 

When  you  think  life's  not  worth  while, 
Sit  straight  up  and  force  a  smile. 
Smile,  and  shake  your  fist  at  fate — 
Hit  the  line;  don't  hesitate. 
Smile  and  say,  "World,  howd'y  do; 
Here's  a-looking  straight  at  you!" 
Shake  yourself  and  force  a  smile. 
You'll  see  clear  sky  after  while. 

When  you  meet  a  brother,  smile ; 
Grasp  his  hand,  walk  double  file. 
Smile,  and  say,  "Hello,  old  chum; 
Cheer  up;  Don't  be  sad  and  glum!" 
Smile,  and  every  time  you  do 
It  pays  interest  to  you. 
Waste  of  time  salt  tears  to  shed — 
Smile,  and  keep  on  straight  ahead. 

In  the  crowded  market  place — 
Keep  a  glad  smile  on  your  face. 
Frown,  and  you  give  birth  to  doubt — 
Next  thing  you'll  be  down  and  out. 
Smile,  and  say,  "Things  coming  fine — 
Only  car  load  lots  in  mine!" 
Waste  of  time  to  sigh  and  sob — 
Smile,  and  stick  tight  to  the  job. 


168  KIDDIES     SIX 

WINTER  MORNINGS 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  fodder, 

And  a  tingle  in  the  air; 
When  the  pumpkins  have  been  gathered 

And  the  corn  is  shucked  with  care; 
When  the  grease  is  in  the  griddle 

And  the  batter's  in  the  crock, 
Life's  worth  living  winter  mornings 

When  you  rise  at  6  o'clock. 

When  the  cakes  are  on  the  griddle, 

And  the  syrup 's  in  the  jug ; 
When  the  coffee  has  been  settled, 

And  the  fire  is  warm  and  snug; 
When  you  smell  the  breakfast  ready, 

And  you  hear  the  "get  up"  knock, 
There's  a  lot  of  joy  in  living, 

Though  you  rise  at  6  o'clock. 

When  the  buckwheats  reach  the  table, 

Mountain  high  and  piping  hot; 
When  with  syrup  and  with  butter 

They  glide  to  the  proper  spot; 
When  you've  eaten  all  you're  able, 

Full  of  "bucks"  your  wife  has  sent, 
You  can  hike  off  to  the  office 

Full  of  grub  and  sweet  content. 

Talk  to  me  of  pate  de  foi  gras ! 

Talk  of  sauces,  puddings,  pies! 
Talk  of  table  d'hote  and  cuisine — 

Not  from  me  they'll  get  a  prize. 
Give  to  me  the  smoking  buckwheats, 

Stacked  up  high  and  piping  hot; 
Maple  syrup,  golden  butter — 

Ah,  that  hits  the  proper  spot! 


KIDDIES     SIX  169 

DON'T  WORRY 

When  the  sun  is  blazing  hot, 

Don't  worry! 
When  the  breezes  bloweth  not, 

Don't  worry! 

Think  how  it  affects  the  corn; 
Bumper  crop,  as  sure's  you're  born — 
Get  up  smiling  every  morn. 

Don 't  worry ! 

When  the  iceman  brings  his  bill, 

Don't  worry! 
Keep  your  tongue  and  temper  still. 

Don't  worry! 

Pay  his  huge  outrageous  toll, 
For  they've  got  you  in  a  hole — 
If  not  ice,  then  it's  for  coal — 

Don't  worry! 

Things  look  bad  the  country  through? 

Don 't  worry ! 
Can't  help  things  by  looking  blue. 

Don 't  worry ! 

Smile  and  just  keep  on  your  way, 
Things  will  work  out  right  some  day, 
So  let  nothing  you  dismay — 

Don 't  worry ! 

Every  dark  cloud  in  your  sight — 

Don't  worry! 
Has  a  silver  lining  bright. 

Don't  worry! 

Don't  let  trouble  trouble  you; 
Just  refuse  to  fret  and  stew; 
To  your  own  good  sense  prove  true — 

Don 't   worry ! 


170  KIDDIES     SIX 

Hot,  of  course;  but  what  of  that? 

Don't  worry! 
It  will  make  the  harvest  fat. 

Don't  worry! 

Toil  today — tomorrow  rest ; 
Brace  your  nerves  to  stand  each  test, 
For  whatever  is,  is  best — 

Don't  worry! 


HERE'S   HOPIN' 

The   doctors  down  in  Houston   donned   their   antiseptic 

clothes, 

Sharpened  up  their  knives  and  saws  in  proper  style ; 
Held  a  smelly  ether  bottle  right  beneath  Judd  Lewis' 

nose, 

And  projected   'round  his  insides  for  a  while. 
First  they  carved  out  his  appendix,  then  they  sewed  him 

up  again, 

Then  departed,  leaving  whiterobed  nurses  near. 
Now  we're  waiting,  and  a  hopin'  he  will  soon  take  up 

his  pen 
And  resume  his  work  o'  writing  songs  of  cheer. 

An  appendix  is  a  Trifle  that  can  cause  a  lot  of  woe. 

So  with  Judd's  the  doctors  Tampered  yesterday. 
And  they  say  he's  doing  bully,  and  it  tickles  us  to  know 

That  he'll  soon  be  up  and  feelin'  blythe  and  gay. 
For  we  miss  his  bubblin'  humor,  and  we  miss  his  lilting 
rhyme. 

And  we're  waitin'  and  a  hopin'  soon  to  hear 
That  Judd  Lewis  has  recovered  and  is  puttin'  in  his  time 

A  "Tamperin'  with   Trifles"  with  good  cheer. 


KIDDIES     SIX  171 

DON'T  KNOCK 

You  can't  saw  wood  with  a  hammer,  my  son, 

Nor  polish  a  marble  with  knocks; 
You'll  not  long  deceive  with  great  clamor,  my  son, 

Nor  profit  by  throwing  of  rocks. 
You  never  can  rise  to  the  heights  of  success 

By  pulling  down  others  who've  gained  it 
By  steadily  working  through  storm  and  through  stress — 

They've  buckled  to  work,  not  disdained  it. 

You  can't  saw  wood  with  a  hammer,  my  son, 

Nor  polish  a  diamond  with  bricks; 
The  world  soon  tires  of  mere  clamor,  my  son, 

And  punctures  the  sharpest  of  tricks. 
You  never  can  rise  by  mere  envy  or  hate, 

Or  growling  at  those  who've  succeeded 
By  honestly  toiling  both  early  and  late — 

'Tis  workers,  not  shirkers,  that's  needed. 

You  can't  saw  wood  with  a  hammer,  my  son, 

Nor  fasten  bridge  timbers  with  tacks; 
The  world  soon  shuns  a  wind-jammer,  my  son; 

You  can't  build  to  last  with  mere  wax. 
To  win  you  must  hustle  with  might  and  with  main, 

And  give  recompense  for  your  wages, 
For  those  who  strive  hardest  deserve  greatest  gain — 

True  worth  is  the  best  of  all  gages. 

You  can't  saw  wood  with  a  hammer,  my  son, 

Nor  write  for  the  future  in  sand; 
The  world  asks  more  than  mere  clamor  my  son — 

It's  work  of  the  brain  and  the  hand. 
So  labor  away  with  a  whistle  and  laugh, 

And  scatter  good  cheer  as  you  labor. 
Don't  worry — the  world  soon  winnows  out  chaff — 

It's  the  wheat  that  you  sell  to  your  neighbor. 


172  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  RICHEST  GIFT 

' '  What  shall  I  give  ? ' '  asked  the  angel, 

"The  dwellers  of  earth  to  rejoice? 
Power  to  see  through  futurity 's  veil  ? 
Power  to  quiet  tempestuous  gale? 
Or  might  that  makes  right  though  justice  shall  fail 

And  Error  throttle  Truth's  voice?" 

"Nay,  let  it  be  sunshine,"  said  one, 

"To  tint  with  its  splendor  the  sky; 
Giving  its  warmth  to  the  dwellers  of  earth; 
Filling  their  souls  with  the  essence  of  mirth; 
Plenty  of  sunshine — of  sorrow  a  dearth — 

When  sunshine  forever  is  nigh." 

"Nay,  let  it  be  rain,"  said  another, 

"For  sorrow  is  every  man's  share. 
Sorrow  for  wrongs  never  righted  by  men ; 
Sorrow  for  wounds  caused  by  deed,  word  or  pen — 
Sorrowing  now  for  the  deeds  of  the  then — 

Bearing  a  burden  of  care." 

"Nay,  let  it  be  both,"  spake  another; 

"Mixture  of  sunshine  and  shower; 
Sunshine  to  lighten  his  pathway  below; 
Raindrops  to  cause  the  rich  harvests  to  grow; 
Teaching  him  praises  on  God  to  bestow 

For  His  'omnipotent  power." 

The  last  is  the  blessing  bestowed — 

Sunshine  and  rain  each  in  season, 
Sunshine  to  drive  away  sorrow  and  gloom; 
Rain  drops  to  swell  the  green  buds  into  bloom ; 
Beacons  of  hope  in  the  dark  of  the  tomb, 

Pointing  the  future  elysian. 


KIDDIES     SIX  173 

THE  DISPATCHER 

They  sing  the  sounding  praises  of  the  daring  engineer 
With  hand  upon  the  throttle,  keenly  gazing  straight 

ahead. 

They  always  hail  him  hero;  say  he's  ignorant  of  fear; 
But  he's  only  'minding  orders,  and  his  signals,  white 

or  red. 
But  the  man  who  bears  the  burden  is  the  man  you  never 

see — 

Seated  in  a  stuffy  office  far  above  the  noisy  street; 
Busy  brain  with  figures  buzzing,  nimble  fingers  on  the 

key, 

.  And  his  eyes  are  never  lifted  from  his  long  train-order 
sheet. 
And  it's  Nos.  Four  and  Seven 

That  must  meet  at  Perkins'  Switch; 
And  the  engineers  plunge  safely 

Through  the  darkness  black  as  pitch. 
Nos.  Two  and  Twenty-seven, 

Rushing  onward  like  the  wind, 
But  the  crews  will  mind  their  orders — 
Safe  the  passengers  behind. 

They  praise  the  financial  captains  who  have  organized  the 

lines 
Into  mighty  railroad  systems  over  which  vast  treasure 

rolls ; 

Beaching  factory  towns  and  forests,  climbing  up  to  dis- 
tant mines; 
Stretching  over  plain  and  mountain,  bringing  in  the 

golden  tolls. 
But  the  men  who  keep  trains  running  never  pose  for 

public  gaze. 

Theirs  to  do  amid  the  clatter — that  to  them  is  music 
sweet — 


174  KIDDIES     SIX 

Of  the  noisy  sounders  clearing  all  the  long  steel-girdled 

ways, 

As  they  bend  to  mark  the  figures  on  the  long  train- 
order  sheet. 
Nos.  Thirteen  and  Eleven 

Meet  and  pass  at  Bilikens'  Bend. 
No.  Two  wait  for  the  "flyer"— 

Take  the  switch  at  New  Rostend. 
Just  a  flimsy  bit  of  paper, 

Words  by  the  dispatcher  sent; 
And  the  tourists  in  the  coaches 

Rest  in  safety  and  content. 

The  papers  sing  the  praises  of  the  managers  who  glide 
0  'er  the  road  in  private  coaches,  looking  worried,  look- 
ing wise ; 

Giving  interviews  in  plenty,  filling  local  men  with  pride 
As  they  wave  them  recognition  while  the  special  on- 
ward flies. 
But  the  man  who  makes  for  safety  of  the  magnate  and 

his  crew 
Is  the  man  that  the  reporters  seldom  have  a  chance  to 

meet. 
He's  cooped  up  within  his  office,  far  removed  from  public 

view, 

Growing  stooped,   and  gray,   and  wrinkled,   over  his 
train-order  sheet. 
You  must  slow  down  at  Cohasset; 

Weakened  bridge — reduce  your  speed. 
Keep  control  until  you  pass  it. 

And  the  engineers   give  heed. 
Just  one  man — you  never  see  him — 

Bears  alone  the  mighty  load; 
And  his  orders  carry  safely 
Millions  o'er  the  busy  road. 


KIDDIES     SIX  175 

ALL'S  WELL! 

I'll  face  the  music,  come  what  may — 

Great  music  or  bitter  sorrow ; 
The  sun  may  hide  its  face  today, 

But  it  will  shine  tomorrow. 
And  if  the  road  seems  rough  and  long 

I'll  make  it  smoother,  brighter, 
By  trudging  on  with  smile  and  song 

To  make  my  burden  lighter. 

I'll  face  the  music,  come  what  may — 

My  heart  with  hope  is  throbbing. 
The  work  that  faces  me  each  day 

Can  not  be  done  by  sobbing. 
Each  daily  stunt  I'll  do  my  best, 

My  efforts  best  recording; 
Content  that  God  will  do  the  rest 

And  care  for  the  rewarding. 


TODAY 

Don't  waste  time  in  sighing 
For  old  days; 

Don't  waste  time  in  crying 
P^or  old  ways. 

Better  days  than  yesterdays 
Leave  no  time  for  sorrow ; 

On  them  better  fix  your  gaze- 
Today  and  tomorrow. 

Don't  waste  time  in  fretting 

For  lost  hours; 
Don't  waste  time  regretting 

The  lost  flowers. 


176  KIDDIES     SIX 

Better  hours  are  growing 
Than  memory  can  borrow; 

Sweeter  flowers  are  blowing — 
Today  and  tomorrow. 

Don't  waste  time  repining 

O'er  bad  days; 
Don't  waste  time  declining 

The  good  ways. 
Smile  and  look  around  you, 

And  new  courage  borrow. 
Better  days  surround  you — . 

Today  and  tomorrow. 


AFTERWHILE 

We  are  going  to  ' '  cut  the  mustard, ' ' 

Afterwhile. 
Likewise  be  ' '  all  to  the  custard, ' ' 

Afterwhile. 

But  today  we're  in  poor  fettle, 
So  we'll  let  our  feelings  settle; 
But  we're  going  to  show  our  mettle 

Afterwhile. 

We  will  wipe  out  all  injustice 

Afterwhile. 
We'll  do  lots  of  big  things — trust  us — 

Afterwhile. 

But  today  is  full  of  pleasure 
And  its  golden  hours  we  '11  treasure  ; 
But  we'll  start  on  some  great  measure 

Afterwhile. 


KIDDIES     SIX  177 

It's  the  greatest  country  ever — 

Afterwhile. 
And  to  reach  it's  our  endeavor, 

Afterwhile. 

But  today  we'll  spend  in  dreaming, 
Wasting  hours  of  golden  gleaming; 
And  await  a  glad  dawn's  beaming 

Afterwhile. 


REVISED  MOTHER  GOOSE 

If  all  the  world  were  water 
And  all  the  water  were  ink, 

Would  Wall  Street  be  first 

To  die  of  thirst? 

Perhaps — but  I  don't  think. 

There  was  a  crooked  man 

Who  made  a  crooked  deal, 
And  amassed  a  crooked  fortune 

In  crooked  iron  and  steel. 
He  financed  crooked  politics 

And  played  it  A  to  Z— 
He's  now  a  crooked  senator, 

In  Washington,  D.  C. 

Jack  Sprat  would  fry  the  fat, 
The  G.  0.  P.  would  spend  it. 

The  tariff  grafter 

Shook  with  laughter 
When  victims  would  defend  it. 


178  KIDDIES     SIX 

A  MASCULINE  ADMISSION 

What  was  it  made  what  mother 'd  bake 

Seem  just  right? 
And  Echo,  who  makes  no  mistake, 

Said,  "Appetite!" 
And  what  makes  modern  cooking  taste 

So  stale  and  raw? 
Then  Echo  spake  with  sudden  haste, 

' '  Dys — pep — si — ah ! ' ' 

The  "old  oaken  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well" 

With  germ-ridden  moss  was  covered  completely. 
'Twas  thirst  from  hard  work  in  the  unshaded  dell 

That  made  the  cool  water  within  it  taste  sweetly. 
The  sal'rateus  biscuit  with  brown  streaks  in  it, 

And  yellow,  and  soggy,  were  a  constant  delight; 
'Twas  hunger  from  work  every  daylighted  minute 

That  gave  us  the  joys  of  a  keen  appetite. 

The  sparkling,  clear  water  we  draw  from  a  pipe 

Is  stale,  tasteless  stuff  when  thirst  we're  assuaging; 
Tis  chewing  tobacco,  the  meerchaum  o'er  ripe, 

And  beer  and  such  stuff,  that  our  palates  are  aging. 
The  light,  flaky  biscuits  we  now  have  to  eat 

Are  triumphs  of  art  in  the  line  gustatory. 
Alas  and  alack!    With  our  stomach  dead  beat 

We  have  to  fall  back  on  that  "like  mother"  story. 

Our  wives  can  give  both  cards  and  spades 

To  old-time  cooks. 
The  tripping  phrase,  "Like  mother  made," 

Sounds  well — in  books. 
The  fault  is  not  that  modern  "eats" 

Are  so  degraded. 
Truth  says:    "Your  taste,  through  beer  and  sweets, 

Is  stale  and  jaded." 


KIDDIES     SIX  179 

AT  THE  GROCERY  STORE 

Bill  Smithers  was  a  talkin'  of  th'  plans  an'  policies 

Which  Roosevelt  is  pushin'  to  bring  Wall  Street  to  its 
knees ; 

An'  William,  when  he's  started,  slings  th'  language 
mighty  free. 

"I  tell  you,  boys,"  he  shouted,  "Teddy's  just  a  suitin' 
me; 

Them  Wall  Street  sharks  he's  hookin'  an'  a  pullin'  'em 
to  land, 

An'  reducin'  of  their  power  in  a  way  to  beat  th'  band." 

But  just  then  Tom  Bobbins  entered  an'  he  says  to  Bill, 
says  he : 

"Does  Wall  Street  make  objection  to  th'  shippin'  sub- 
sidy?" 

That  stumped  Bill  for  a  minute,  but  he  caught  his  breath 

an'  said, 

While  cuttin'  some  terb acker  an'  a  waggin'  of  his  head: 
"Th'   president   is   trimmin'    of   them    gamblin'   fellers' 

claws, 
An'  showin'  them  they're  subject  to  th'  country's  rules 

an'  laws; 
He's  a  callin'  'em  to  order,  an'  they  have  to  walk  th' 

chalk — 
I  tell  you  Ted's  a  wonder,  an'  they  jump  to  hear  him 

talk." 
And    Bobbins,    never    smilin',    looks    at    Bill    an'    says, 

says  he : 

"Have  you  heard  Wall  Street  objectin'  to  th'  asset  cur- 
rency ? ' ' 

Bill  swallered  his  terbacker,  but  he  comes  back  mighty 

game 
An'  shouted  that  Tom  Bobbins  ought  to  feel  a  sense  o' 

shame 


180  KIDDIES     SIX 

For  ever  intimatin'  that  th'  president  was  wrong, 
An'   then   continued   talkin'   with   an   accent   good   an' 

strong : 

"The  president  is  bustin'  every  trust  that  shows  its  head, 
An'  Wall  Street  is  objectin'   'cause  it  kills  their  gamb- 

lin'  dead." 
Then  Bobbins,  with  a  chuckle,  looks  at  Bill  an'  says,  says 

he: 
"Have   you   heard   Wall   Street    objectin'   to   his   tariff 

policy?" 

Then  Smithers  rose  a  snortin'  an'  he  said  he  wouldn't 
stay 

When  Bobbins  was  insultin'  Roosevelt  in  such  a  way. 

"He  compelled  them  railroad  fellers  to  give  decent  rail- 
road rates, 

An'  he's  got  'em  goin'  plenty  on  th'  matter  of  rebates; 

Which  th'  same  is  mighty  pleasin'  to  th'  honest  men  I 
meet, 

But  is  mighty  bitter  p'ison  to  th'  schemers  in  Wall 
Street." 

But  Bobbins  he  was  ready,  an'  he  says  to  Bill,  says  he: 

"Have  you  heard  Wall  Street  objectin'  to  his  federal 
policy?" 

"You  traitor!"  Smithers  shouted  as  he  jumped  straight 
up  in  air, 

But  Bobbins  wasn't  flustered  an'  just  titled  back  his  chair, 

"You  weary  me,"  said  Smithers,  "with  your  narrow  pol- 
itics, 

A  fightin'  'stead  of  helpin'  Roosevelt  with  your  best  licks. 

He's  republican,  is  Teddy,  an'  th'  best  since  Lincoln's 
day; 

That's  the  reason  that  you  Bourbons  won't  give  Theodore 
fair  play." 


KIDDIES     SIX  181 

Then  Bobbins  shakes  with  laughin'  an'  he  says  to  Bill, 

says  he: 
"All  them  good  things  you  have  mentioned  he  got  from 

democracy." 


NEW  YEAR  GREETING 

I  wish  a  happy  prosp'rous  year 
To  all  my  good  friends,  far  and  near; 
From  California  'cross  to  Maine. 
From  lakes  to  gulf,  and  back  again; 
From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west, 
I  wish  for  each  of  you  the  best 
The  New  Year  has  within  its  store — 
All  this  I  wish  for  you — and  more. 

I  wish  a  year  of  joy  and  peace; 
From  sorrow  and  from  pain  release ; 
For  friends  about  on  every  side, 
And  love's  doors  ever  opened  wide; 
Hope's  full  fruition  day  by  day. 
And  sunshine  all  along  your  way. 
And  harbor  safe  when  tempests  roar — 
All  this  I  wish  for  you — and  more. 

For  you  I  wish,  instead  of  gold, 
That  you  may  gracefully  grow  old; 
That  each  day's  slowly  setting  sun 
Will  see  some  duty  nobly  done. 
I  wish  that  home  ties  stronger  grow, 
That  for  you  flowers  bloom  and  blow, 
That  God's  rich  blessings  on  you  pour — 
All  this  I  wish  for  you — and  more. 

The  best  that's  old,  the  best  that's  new — 
All,  all  of  these,  I  wish  for  you. 


182  KIDDIES     SIX 

MARCH 

Don 't  you  fret  about  the  weather 

For  the  rain  and  sleet  and  snow 
Blowing  down  on  hill  and  heather 

Make  the  May  time  roses  blow. 
Rain  today  and  blow  tomorrow; 

Skies  o'ercast  with  leaden  gloom; 
Bid  goodby  to  doubt  and  sorrow — 

Soon  the  April  buds  will  bloom. 

Seas  of  mud  spread  out  before  us, 
But  the  sun  again  will  glow, 

Flowers  will  shed  their  perfume  o'er  us 
When  May  breezes  softly  blow. 

Dark  today,  tomorrow  brighter; 

Gloom  today,  tomorrow's  blue 

Of  the  skies  will  make  hearts  lighter — 
When  the  crocuses  peep  through. 


APRIL 

The  little  buds  begin  to  swell, 

The  grass  is  showing  green ; 
The  unlocked  rills  are  flowing  on 

With  rippling,  silvery  sheen. 
The  chickens  scratch  my  garden  plot 

Despite  the  clod's  I've  flung, 
And  by  these  signs  I'm  confident 

That  spring's  been  sprung. 

The  burning  hoopskirt  taints  the  air, 
The  dust  clouds  sail  on  high ; 

And  from  some  hiding  place  unknown 
Now  comes  the  noisome  fly. 

I've  got  to  beat  a  lot  of  rugs 


KIDDIES     SIX  183 

Upon  the  clothesline  hung, 
And  by  these  signs  I  know  full  well 
That  spring's  been  sprung. 

My  better  half  has  got  a  cloth 
Tied  tight  around  her  head ; 
The  bedclothes  and  the  furniture 

Are  in  the  back  yard  spread. 
The  meals  she  gets  are  mighty  scant 

Although  she  knows  I'm  hung? 
Ry  as  a  bear — and  thus,  I  know 

That  spring's  been  sprung. 


LASSITUDE 

The  Southern  breezes  softly  sing 
Of  gentle,  dreamy,  balmy  spring; 
I  can  not  write  a  single  thing 

Worth  while. 

I  can  but  sit  and  idly  gaze 
Across  the  green  clad  meadow  ways 
To  where  the  laughing  brooklet  plays, 

Each  isle 

A  little  gem  to  catch  the  eye 
As  murmuring  waves  go  rippling  by. 

A  tinge  of  spring  is  in  the  air, 
A  thousand  songbirds  now  declare 
The  coming  flowers  perfumed  rare, 

And  I- 

I  can  but  sit  and  grind  away 
At  my  machine  day  after  day 
From  early  morn  till  twilight  gray, 

And  try 

To  keep  the  old-time  rhyming  pace 
And  fill  about  the  same  old  space. 


184  KIDDIES     SIX 

This  touch  of  springtime  makes  me  feel 
I'd  like  to  take  my  rod  and  reel 
And  to  the  lake  or  river  steal 

And  fish. 

To  feel  again  the  keen  delight 
Of  humming  reel  and  silk  line  tight 
As  wary  bass  or  trout  took  flight. 

I  wish 

I  did  not  have  this  space  to  fill, 
I'd  skip  out  now — and  so  I  will. 


SONGS  0'  CHEER 

What's  the  use  o'  weepin'? 

Better  days  are  comin'  soon. 
Don't  be  cryin',  but  be  tryin' 

F'r  t'  lilt  a  merry  tune. 

What's  th'  use  o'  moanin' 
If  th'  day  is  dark  an'  drear! 

Clouds  don't  matter — they  will  scatter 
If  you  sing  a  song  o'  cheer. 

What's  the  use  o'  grumblin' 
If  your  plans  go  all  awry? 

Keep  on  smilin'  all  th'  while  an' 
You  will  git  there  by  an'  by. 

What's  th'  use  o'  kickin' 

At  your  tough,  untimely  fate? 

On  tomorrow  shove  your  sorrow 
An'  keep  hustlin'  while  you  wait. 

What's  th'  use  o'  cryin' 

'Cause  all  days  ain  't  days  o '  June  ? 
Prick  the  bubble  you  call  trouble 

An'  strike  up  a  merry  tune. 


KIDDIES     SIX  186 

SMILE   AND    HUSTLE 

"When  your  plans  go  all  awry, 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Not  a  bit  of  use  to  cry. 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Waste  of  time  to  fret  and  scold ; 
Brace,  and  get  another  hold; 
Meet  the  future  brave  and  bold — 

Smile  and  hustle. 

Some  big  scheme  wound  up  in  wreck? 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Bad  luck  smite  you  in  the  neck? 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Be  a  man  among  big  men, 
Grab  a  hold  and  try  again, 
Spit  upon  your  hands,  and  then 

Smile  and  hustle. 

When  a  brave  man  hits  the  bumps — 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Then  is  when  he  up  and  humps, 

Smile  and  hustle. 
Waste  of  time  to  weep  and  wail, 
Just  forget  that  small  word  "fail," 
Don't  moon  'round  till  you  go  stale — 

Smile  and  hustle. 

Everybody  has  bad  luck. 

Smile  and  hustle. 
That 's  the  time  to  show  your  pluck. 

Smile  and  hustle. 

Say,  "Hard  luck,  goodby  to  you," 
Start  off  on  a  tack  that's  new, 
Keep  straight  on  with  purpose  true, 

Smile  and  hustle. 


186  KIDDIES     SIX 

THE  SINGER  AND  THE  SONG 

The  singer  sang,  his  heart  aflame 
With  Freedom's  holy  light. 

He  sang  for  love  and  not  for  fame ; 

His  highest  hope  and  dearest  aim 
To  hold  aloft  the  right. 

Stilled  was  his  pen !    His  work  complete, 

The  singer  sang  no  more. 
He  thought  his  song  with  rythm  sweet, 
With  love  for  humankind  replete, 

Lost  in  the  mad  world's  roar. 

A  song  of  hope  and  joy  and  cheer 

Set  hearts  to  beating  light. 
It  banished  sorrow's  falling  tear, 
Dispelled  the  clouds  of  doubt  and  fear, 

And  all  the  world  grew  bright. 

Forgot  the  singer!     But  the  song 

Still  stirs  the  hearts  of  men. 
When  bowed  beneath  the  tyrant's  wrong 
They  sing  it  in  a  chorus  strong 
And  stand  free  men  again. 


THE   BANQUET 

I  have  heard  in  song  and  story  of  the  man  behind  the  gun, 

Of  the  man  behind  the  plowshare  and  the  pen. 
I  have  read  of  hero  medals  on  the  field  of  battle  won, 

And  of  honors  won  by  writing  deeds  of  men. 
But  I  come  to  sing  the  praises  of  the  man  who  makes  a  hit 

With  the  people  who  attend  the  banquet  spread — 
Of  the  witty,  clever  talker  who  well  knows  just  when  to 
quit, 

And  who  quits  before  his  auditors  are  dead. 


KIDDIES     SIX  187 

I  have  heard  of  martial  heroes  in  their  panoplied  array, 

And  I  love  to  hear  their  praises  sweetly  sung; 
But  I'd  rather  hail  the  hero  of  the  gustatory  fray 

Who  can  realize  just  when  to  stop  his  tongue. 
It  is  easy  to  go  whooping  up  the  bullet-ridden  slope 

With  your  comrades  all  a-whooping  by  your  side — 
But  it's  hard  to  stop  the  speaker  who  is  full  on  lingual 
dope 

And  keeps  pouring  out  his  talk  in  endless  tide. 

We  have  had  the  nervous  fidgets  on  occasions  quite  a 

score 

When  the  endless  talker  overworked  his  jaws ; 
We  have  sat  and  dumbly  suffered  while  some  double- 
winded  bore 

Talked  and  talked  without  a  sign  of  halt  or  pause. 
We  have  seen  the  weary  feasters  marching  out  in  solid 

squads 

To  escape  the  turgid  flow  of  "eloquence;" 
But  we've  always  had  to  suffer  from  the  bore's  linguistic 

wads 
That  were  merely  endless  words  sans  rhyme  or  sense. 

Here 's  a  health  to  banquet  speakers  who  are  wise  on  when 

to  cease, 

And  who  quit  when  they  have  nothing  more  to  say ; 
But  the  weary,  dreary  spouter — may  he  know  no  rest  or 

peace 

Till  he  comes  to  face  the  final  judgment  day. 
Then  may  he  get  nought  but  justice — and  this  sentence 

I'd  impose 

On  the  endless  banquet  talker's  bullethead: 
"Through  the  ages  you  must  listen  to  your  drivel  as  it 

flows 
From  the  redhot  phonographs  around  you  spread. ' ' 


188  KIDDIES     SIX 

AGRICULTURAL 

In  January  how  I  love 

To  dream  of  hoe  and  spade, 
And  in  my  dreams  to  contemplate 

The  garden  I  have  made. 
In  February  how  I  plan 

Straight  row  and  level  bed, 
And  dream  of  lettuce,  peas  and  beans, 

And  radishes  so  red. 

In  March  I  walk  around  the  lot 

And  mark  with  care  each  place 
Where  ev'ry  vegetable  will  grow 

In  meet  and  proper  grace. 
In  April  I  take  up  the  tools 

And  work  till  hands  are  sore — 
Then  buy  my  summer  green  goods  at 

The  corner  grocery  store. 


STILL  A  RUNNIN' 

01'  Satan  tryin'  t'  git  me,  but  I'm  keepin'  up  my  pace; 
Qwine  t'  keep  a  runnin'  'cause  I  gotter  win  th'  race; 

An'  I  ain't  no  time  to  worry 

'Cause  I'm  in  a  mighty  hurry, 
An'  oF  Satan's  right  behin'  me  with  a  grin  upon  his  face. 

01'  Satan  gwine  t'  cotch  me  if  I  even  hesitate, 
So  I'm  jumpin'  like  a  rabbit  at  a  mighty  rapid  rate. 

Heard  ol'  Satan  say  I'm  due  him, 

But  I  sw'ar  I  never  knew  him, 
An'  I  hustle  moughty  lively  'cause  I  gotter  miss  his  date. 

Got  my  eyes  on  glory  fas'ened  an'  I  hurry  on  my  way; 
Theology  ain't  pressin'  for  no  argument  today. 


KIDDIES     SIX  189 

Jus'  keep  runnin'  while  I'm  prayin' 
'Cause  I  hear  ol'  Satan  sayin, 
That  I'm  owin'  him  a  plenty  an'  I  gotter  stop  an'  pay. 

'Cotch  my  breath  an'  keep  a  goin'  right  along  to  glory's 

goal; 

There's  a  prize  that's  worth  th'  winnin, '  an'  it's  my  im- 
mortal soul. 

If  I  pause  f  r  but  a  minute 
Then  ol'  Satan  boun'  t'  win  it — 
Watch  me  go — ol'  Satan  never  gwine  t'  git  me  in  a  hole. 

Glory  Hallelujer  brother!     I  have   cotched  my   breath 

ag'in! 

Hear  my  feet  a  pattin'  glory  as  they  run  away  from  sin. 
Peter,  fling  dat  gate  wide  open, 

F'r  dis  runner  am  a  hopin' 
Dat  he's  gwine  t'  distance  Satan  an'  a-crown  o'  glory 

win. 


ALWAYS 

I  love  to  sing  of  the  rolling  sea 
(I  live  on  the  prairies  wide.) 
I  love  to  sing  of  the  wild  waves  free 

(I  never  have  seen  the  tide.) 
Of  whitening  sails  and  stormy  gales 

(Gee!   Haw!   And  the  corn  rows  tall.) 
And  long  lee  rails  and  wild  sea  tales 
(0,  the  dinner  horn's  sweet  call.) 
I  love  to  sing  as  the  sun  sails  by 
The  print  shop 's  redhot  windows  high. 
Yo,  heave,  0! 
Blow,  winds,  blow! 
I  sing  of  the  sea  and  its  life  so  free 
Though  a  blamed  thing  of  it  I  do  not  know. 


190  KIDDIES     SIX 

I  love  to  sing  of  the  knights  of  old 

(My  lance  is  an  old  stub  pen.) 
I  love  to  dream  of  their  deeds  so  bold 

(Gadzooks!    What  a  red  hot  den!) 
Of  lance  and  shield  and  armour  bright 

(A  linen  suit  for  me.) 
Of  jousts  and  bouts  for  truth  and  right 

(Back  to  my  den  I  flee.) 
I  love  to  sing  of  the  old  crusades 
While  hunting  the  ever  welcome  shades. 
Lance  in  rest ! 
Fight  with  zest ! 

I  sing  of  knights  and  their  brave  old  fights 
But  I  opine  that  these  days  are  best. 

I  love  to  sing  of  the  "Boys  in  Blue" 

(A  shirt  waist  suit  for  mine.) 
Brave  boys  of  "deeds  of  daring  do" 

(A  home  life  suits  me  fine.) 
A  clash  of  arms  on  the  battlefield 

(Me  for  the  quiet  life.) 
Brave  boys  who  will  not  ever  yield 

(I  flee  from  the  storm  and  strife.) 
I  love  to  sing  of  the  battle's  roar 
With  smoke  of  cannons  hanging  o'er. 
Hip,  Hooray ! 
Charge  away! 

I  sing  of  the  brave  men  true  and  tried 
But  safe  in  my  den  I  think  I'll  stay. 

I  love  to  sing  of  the  harvest  field 
(I  don't  know  oats  from  wheat.) 

I  love  to  sing  of  the  fertile  yield 
(Me  for  the  soft  old  seat.) 

Of  rippling  grain  when  the  cool  winds  blow 
(An  electric  fan  in  mine.) 


KIDDIES     SIX  191 

Of  ripe  grain  nodding  to  and  fro 

(In  the  evening  long  'bout  nine.) 
The  reaper's  music  floating  free 
So  quickly  stirs  the  soul  of  me. 

Click,  clack,  click! 

Is  the  measure  quick. 
Tis  sweet  refrain  from  the  ripened  grain 
But  here  at  my  desk  I  think  I'll  stick. 


POOR    MAN 

Poor  man !    His  life  is  full  of  woes 
As  down  the  rugged  path  he  goes. 
He  rises  at  the  break  of  day 
And  starts  off  feeling  blythe  and  gay, 
But  e'er  he's  started  on  the  morn 
He  finds  the  cutworms  in  his  corn, 
And  in  the  fields  of  waving  wheat 
He  sees  the  chintz  bugs  gaily  eat. 

A  man  comes  tripping  o  'er  the  clods 
And  sells  him  miles  of  lightning  rods, 
And  with  a  pretty  fountain  pen 
He  signs  a  little  contract — then 
In  thirty  days  the  bank  says,  "You 
Must  pay  your  note ;  it's  long  past  due.1 
Or  some  smooth  politician  hies 
Upon  the  scene  and  gaily  lies 
Until  the  man,  deluded  chump, 
Frames  for  himself  another  bump. 

At  noon  he  tries  to  take  his  ease 
Beneath  the  shade  of  leafy  trees. 
But  just  as  he  begins  to  nap 
An  agent  comes  with  county  map 


192  KIDDIES     SIX 

Or  books  galore,  for  him  to  scan 
And  pay  for  on  installment  plan. 
Then,  ere  he  ope's  his  mouth  to  speak 
He's  stuck  a  year — two  plunks  a  week. 
He  sends  to  congress  some  smooth  guy 
Who  says  the  tariff  is  too  high  ; 
And  while  he  dreams  of  sweet  release 
The  fellow  votes  for  big  increase. 
He  studies  hard  to  learn  the  facts 
About  his  state  and  county  tax, 
Then  votes  to  get  some  great  relief 
And  finds  he's  only  added  grief. 

He  plans  to  take  a  little  trip 
And  all  his  chickens  take  the  pip, 
Or  cholera  infests  his  hogs 
Or  fleas  attack  his  favorite  dogs. 
He  has  a  daughter  and  at  last 
He  gets  her  wedding  day  well  past, 
And  finds  instead  of  losing  one 
He's  only  gained  another  son. 

Poor  man !    His  life  is  full  of  ills 
And  ipecac  and  dope  and  pills. 
His  frame  is  choked  with  creaks  and  aches 
His  course  is  full  of  foolish  breaks. 
He  grows  up  like  a  pumpkin  vine 
And  wilts  down  like  a  piece  of  twine. 
Poor  man !    No  matter  how  he  jumps 
He's  due  to  get  some  awful  bumps. 


KIDDIES    SIX  193 

THE  TEST 

Without  doubt  you've  often  noticed  midst  the  ever  busy 
throng 

Some  man  who  had  a  story  of  hard  luck  that  lasted  long ; 

A  man  who  had  a  grievance  at  the  world  and  always 
whined 

Just  because,  with  rush  and  bustle,  it  had  left  him  far 
behind. 

Oft  he  tells  his  plaintive  story  of  a  fortune  won  and  lost, 

And  he  wonders  at  his  failure  as  he  counts  the  bitter  cost. 

And  the  more  you  listen  to  him  it  is  easier  to  guess 

That  the  cause  of  his  position  is — he  couldn't  stand  suc- 
cess. 

There's  a  man  who  once  was  honored  with  a  high  official 
place, 

Who  is  now  by  all  derided  and  condemned  to  deep  dis- 
grace. 

When  he  took  the  oath  of  office  he  intended  to  be.  square, 

Do  his  duty  to  the  people  in  a  manner  upright,  fair ; 

But  his  elevation  dazed  him  and  his  power  turned  his 
brain 

And  a  sick,  disgusted  people  wouldn't  stand  for  him 
again. 

Now  he  says  they  are  ungrateful,  but  it  isn't  hard  to  guess 

That  the  cause  of  his  position  is — he  couldn't  stand  suc- 
cess. 

Some  of  this  world's  greatest  failures  are  the  men  who 

climbed  up  high, 
Who  won  fame  and  long  attracted  notice  from  the  public 

eye, 
Then  "fell  down" — the  worst  of  failures,  for  they  never 

understood 
That  to  win  is  not  sufficient ;  they  must  keep  on  ' '  making 

good." 


194  KIDDIES     SIX 

For  the  world  is  always  watching  and  applies  the  strictest 

test, 
Which  to  meet  a  man  must  hustle  and  perform  his  very 

best. 
And  the  man  who  wins  and  loses,  then  emits  howls  of 

distress 
Stands  before  the  world  a  "quitter" — for  he   couldn't 

stand  success. 


FISHING 

When  the  winds  of  May  are  blowing  o  'er  the  fields  abloom 

with  flowers, 
And  a  dreamy  feeling  gets  me  during  all  my  working 

hours • 
When  the  rippling  of  the  waters  sounds  like  music  soft 

and  low, 
And  I  get  the  scent  of  blossoms  winds  are  wafting  to  and 

fro, 

Then  is  when  I  want  to  gather  all  my  troubles  into  one 
And  forget  it  for  a  season — want  to  seize  my  rod  and  run 
To  the  deep,  primeval  forest  where  old  Nature's  at  her 

best. 
And  the  old  reel's  clicking  music  lulls  me  into  perfect 

rest. 

When  the  boat  is  idly  rocking  on  the  waters  cool  and 

deep, 
And  the  shadows  eastward  turning  o'er  the  water  gently 

creep ; 
AVhen  the  soft  winds  sigh  above  me  and  the  waters  moan 

below, 
And  Dame  Nature  paints  her  pictures  with  a  tinge  of 

sunset  glow, 
Then   I   learn   life's   sweetest   lessons   as   I   listen  there 

alone — 


KIDDIES    SIX  195 

Sermons  from  the  living  waters,  sermons  writ  on  mossy 

stone, 
And  the  world's  hard  toil  forgetting  life  takes  on  an 

added  zest 
While  the  old  reel's  magic  music  lulls  me  into  perfect  rest. 

When  the  evening  shadows  gather  and  I  row  my  boat 

ashore, 
And  the  summer  moon  is  gently  shedding  silv  'ry  radiance 

o'er 
All  the  world,  and  silence  brooding  bids  me  troubles  to 

forsake 
As  I  lay  outstretched  and  resting,  half  asleep  and  half 

awake ; 
And  the  wavelets  gently  lapping,  and  the  rustling  leaves 

of  green 
Carry  me  unmeasured  distance  from  the  market's  busy 

scene — 
Then  I  sink  away  to  slumber  on  Dame  Nature's  ample 

breast, 
And  the  old  reel's  dreamland  music  makes  the  slumber 

perfect  rest. 


MY   DESIRE 

I  ask  not  wealth 

To  pile  in  golden  store. 
I  ask  but  health 

That  I  may  toil  the  more 
For  those  I  love  that  I  may  give 
Them  daily  comfort  while  they  live. 

I  ask  not  fame 

To  blazon  'round  the  earth. 
I  hope  my  name 


196  KIDDIES    SIX 

Will  stand  for  honest  worth 
So  that  my  children  proudly  wear 
The  humble  name  their  parents  bear. 

I  ask  not  place 

To  wield  official  power. 
I  ask  for  grace 

Upon  me  every  hour 
So  I  may  ample  time  employ 
To  scatter  smiles  and  hope  and  joy. 

I  ask  not  length 

Of  idle  days  to  live. 
I  ask  for  strength 

To  help  me  gladly  give 
A  helping  hand  to  those  downcast 
Beside  my  way  as  I  walk  past. 

I  ask  not  ease 

While  others  suffer  loss 
I  ask  to  seize 

And  help  them  to  bear  the  cross 
So  they,  too,  stand  erect  a  while 
And  look  about  with  face  illumined  with  smile. 

I  ask  not  days 

To  spend  in  selfish  gain. 
I  ask  but  ways 

To  banish  grief  and  pain, 
So  that  at  close  of  ev'ry  day 
"He  helped  me  on,"  some  soul  will  say. 

I  ask  no  prize 

That  earth  may  hold  in  store. 
I  ask  mine  eyes 

May  see  yon  fairer  shore ; 
That  I  may  hear  at  life's  descending  sun 
The  final  verdict  passed :    ' '  Well  done. ' ' 


INDEX 

Absence    55 

At    Eventide 23 

A  Shock 52 

At  the  Ball  Game 81 

An  Anniversary 93 

All  Right 144 

All's  Well 175 

At  the  Grocery  Store 179 

April  182 

Agricultural 188 

Always  189 

Before  and  After , 152 

Brace  Up 154 

Bright  Side,  The 162 

Banquet,    The 186 

Baby  Blue  Eyes 15 

Bed  Time 48 

Baby's   Shoes 49 

Contents  39 

Cheerupathist,   The Ill 

Christmas 124 

Dixie  135 

Day  After,  The 166 

Don't  Worry 169 

Don't   Knock 171 

Dispatcher,  The 173 

Denman   Thompson 103 

Dickey  Boy 11 

Dood  Mornin'! 31 

Day   Dreams 33 

Easy   127 

Farmer  Pays  It  All,  The 128 

Fifteen  Years 102 

From  the  Valley 7 

For   Me 10 

Flat  Owner's  Fate,  The 41 

Fancies  69 

Forty-four  96 

Forty-five    98 


198  KIDDIES     SIX 

Forty-seven  100 

Going  Back 109 

God  Bless  Him 113 

Goiugh  Out  to  Grandma's 45 

Good  Night;   Sleep   Tight! 22 

Grandpa  104 

Growing    Up 17 

Grief  in  Boyville 70 

Home  Again 44 

Hello,   Pop! 51 

His    Fate 58 

Hello,    Neighbor! 74 

Hands  Across  the  Border 143 

Homeward    Bound 165 

Here's  Hopin' : 170 

In  the  Old  Days 131 

Is  It  Worth  While 132 

In  the  Shadow  of  the  Mountains 139 

June  Time 145 

Joys  O'  Winter 151 

Just  Money  Enough 32 

Joel  Chandler  Harris 63 

John's    Wealth .- 117 

Life  137 

Locating  the  Blame 138 

Longing 40 

Lassitude  183 

Little   Man 20 

Lonely    24 

Lookout  Man 29 

Lullaby  46 

Louis  and  Ruth 54 

Little  Bill,  To 57 

Looking  Backward 60 

Let  'Em  Ride 61 

Lights  0'  Home 

Like  a  Boy  Again 90 

March  182 

My  Vacation 118 


KIDDIES     SIX  199 

Mistletoe,  The : 119 

My  Part 113 

Making    Good 156 

Man  Who  Makes  the  State 157 

Masculine  Admission,   A 178 

Mother's  Work 83 

My  Prayer : 5 

My  Pa 27 

My  Children  and  1 37 

Meanest  Man,  The 43 

My  Wants 43 

Memory    -. 91 

News  From  Home 107 

Nod-a-Ville    40 

Never  Again 64 

New  Year  Greeting 181 

Old   Songs 84 

Ol'  Man  Armstead's  Violin 80 

One  Who  Was  Not  There 79 

Off  to  School 50 

Open  Season,  The •. 67 

Old    Songs 75 

Old  Folks  at  Home 105 

Old  Home  Day 146 

Opportunity  148 

Pictures    110 

Pioneers,   The 121 

Problem  Worth  While,  A 158 

Poor   Man •. 191 

Pay  Day 65 

Pessimist,    The 68 

Road  to  Yesterday 77 

Richard  Metcalfe  Maupin 13 

Relics    36 

Road  to  Smileville 43 

Reason,  The 70 

Real    Music 120 

Reverse  of  the  Golden  Shield,  The 126 

Richest  Gift,  The 126 


200  KIDDIES    SIX 

Still  a  Runnin' 138 

Smile  and  Hustle 185 

Some  Resolutions 134 

Skiddoo!  155 

Striking  Difference,  The 163 

Smile  167 

Songs  0'  Cheer 184 

Santa  Glaus'  Books 34 

Statistical 73 

Today   112 

Thanksgiving  123-89 

Three  Singers : 129 

The  Call  : 149 

The  Strike  159 

Today   , 175 

The  Singer  and  the  Song 186 

To  Her 82 

The  Baby  12 

The  Secret  14 

The  Youngest    Boy 19 

Two  o'  Mine 21 

Three  o'  Mine 26 

The  Name 28 

Two  Weeks  After 63 

The   Truant. 94 

Under  the  Mistletoe 116 

Vain    Surmising 6 

Vacation   Time 62 

Writin'  Rhymes 95 

Where  Pleasure  Is 9 

Wonderful   15 

Wanted,  a  Name 23 

Writing   at   Home 47 

What's  the  Use? 76 

When  My  Ship  Comes  In 115 

Within  the  Week 142 

When  Washington  Was  Here 160 

Winter  Mornings 163 

Yoimg   America 59 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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